Speech Therapy
by That Buggy Girl
Summary: Pre-RotF. Even in a race of super-advanced robots, not all defects can be repaired by a medic, as the team in charge of raising the twins is learning. Now they have to find a solution for the problem before both their lab and their sanity are destroyed.
1. Part 1

**Notes:** I purchased the novelized version of RotF, mostly because I'd heard that Mudflap is written with a lisp and I am a HUGE fan of any sort of character with a speech impediment. I wanted to see for myself just how bad it was; I love researching. It's pretty terrible...So here I am, writing about it.

This will, hopefully, turn into a series. That's my intention. As it is, I have nothing further planned/written yet, so...Maybe I'll come up with something more soon?

-

Mudflap couldn't talk.

It wasn't just the slang and the jive and the lack of proper grammar. No, it went beyond that, though those problems were bad enough on their own. It was a chore to decipher anything either of the twins said to begin with, simply because of their colorful, often-vulgar vocabulary.

It was worse with Mudflap; he came online with a glitch -- A terrible lisp. His voice was wispy, words drawn out, syllables mangled. Several parties had attempted to correct the problem, all to no avail, and in the end, they all reasoned that he would simply -hopefully- grow out of it.

Hopefully.

In the meantime, they were stuck dealing with it, trying as hard as they could to understand him. The twins were not making the academic strides expected of mechs their age to begin with and no one wanted to further hinder Mudflap's development by failing to understand him, so each day was a never-ending struggle to comprehend each mangled word that came out of his mouth.

And _a lot_ of words came out.

Mudflap, unfortunately, liked to talk. He was a chatterbox, hardly letting something as trivial as a speech impediment stop him. He didn't talk as much as Skids, but it was enough to test every one's patience.

He talked a lot about the great Optimus Prime, his idol. And, thank Primus, he repeated himself often, jabbering about the same facts over and over again. "Optimuth did thith" and "Optimuth did that" and "did ya know that…" It was easy to tune him out, when he repeated himself for the millionth time.

In the beginning, it had been kind of endearing. The twins were a pet project of the science team and every one took responsibility for them, trying to understand the hidden secrets of those who shared a spark, and the team was rather fond of them. Because of this, they were all fairly proud of the fact that this speech problem was hardly a discouragement for the spunky little mech. But as the twins grew and…matured, it got more and more annoying and the science team found themselves rather irritated.

Not with Mudflap; never with Mudflap (not about that, at least). His struggle to correct his glitch was inspiring and they all wanted him to overcome his problems. No, it was Skids who was the problem.

Mudflap was hyper, bordering on manic most of the time. He would bounce from thing to thing, chattering and unable to sit still. Skids was only slightly less reckless, though he took his minute amount of self-control as a sign that he was the more mature, smarter of the two; the self-proclaimed brains of the operation.

And because of this, he often attempted to act as his brother's translator or, worse yet, his brother's voice.

It resulted in a lot of frustration on the behalf of the science team as well as a lot of brawls between the twins.

Mudflap did not like being spoken for. And he told his brother this, often and loudly and with his fists. It didn't seem to phase Skids, because he kept it up, often interpreting what Mudflap was trying to say before the other mech even finished saying it. Usually, he was right, but that didn't stop Mudflap from getting annoyed and trying to clobber him and then the two of them would be rolling around on the floor, kicking and punching and crashing into equipment.

The science team didn't appreciate their equipment being damaged, but more than that, they were worried about what kind of effect it would have on Mudflap in the long run. As obnoxious as he could be, they _wanted _him to talk. The more he conversed with others, they theorized, the more his speech would improve.

But it _wasn't_ improving; in fact, Mudflap's speech seemed to be deteriorating instead and the scientists suspected it had a lot to do with his well-meaning twin's interference. Besides that, the constant fighting and screeching of "Thut up; I can talk by mythelf, you thupid aft!" were starting to grate on their last nerves.

In light of the problems Mudflap's defect was causing for every one he knew, the science team knew they needed a new strategy. And so they conferred together, seeking council with the medics and researchers, and it didn't take them long to draw the conclusion that _something_ had to be done.

They just had no idea what.


	2. Part 2

**Notes:** I thoroughly enjoyed Hoist when I watched through G1, so when I needed a medical figure to toss into this, I decided to use him. He makes me smile.

**Misao-CG: **Thanks for the muffin; I do love them. Mudflap enjoyed his cookie. I hope I will surprise you!

**Nobility:** I tend to write things in drabble-form, so the parts tend to be short. As you can see, though, I am continuing this story!

**CuriousDreamWeaver: **Thanks! I'm glad you like my characterization. I'm having a lot of fun writing them.

Thanks to every one who read, reviewed and enjoyed!

-

"They gonna take you apart again, brutha."

"No they ain't."

"Yeah, they don't like how you talk. They sicka listening to you."

"There'th nothin' wrong with how I thalk!"

"They think so. And they gonna take you apart again, study your insides and hopefully shut yer big mouth for good."

"No! They thaid they ain't doin' that no more…It don't work! They can't fix it."

"What's amatter? You scared, sucka? Scared of the big, bad medics and their tools…"

"Thut up! I ain't thcared!" The denial was punctuated by Mudflap springing through the air, crashing headlong into his brother in a flurry of fists and feet. Skids stumbled back, crashing to the floor with his brother on top of him, and the two proceeded to roll across the room, hurling both insults and fists.

In truth, no one was planning on taking Mudflap apart. They had tried to manually correct his problem on more than one occasion, all to no avail. Nothing they tweaked or tightened or replaced seemed to help. Sometimes, the lisp would vanish immediately after repairs and they would be hopeful, but it would slowly creep back into his voice until it was as bad as it ever had been. Whatever was causing it, it wasn't a mechanical issue; no one had been able to permanently repair him.

So why then did Skids tell his twin they were planning to put him in stasis and tinker with him again? There was no real reason. He himself didn't even know why he did things like that; he just liked tormenting Mudflap. Besides, his other half gave as good as he got and Skids enjoyed little more than a good brawl.

The fight ended with the two of them being physically separated, older mechs pulling them apart and confining them to different areas of the ship. Skids forgot about the scuffle almost instantly, settling in with a handheld battle simulator, ready to engage in a virtual fight rather than a physical one.

Mudflap, who was hauled off to the med bay due to a dent in his left doorwing, sat in a chair and sulked, grumbling under his breath in incomprehensible words. Hoist, the ship's medic and one of the least overzealous members of the science team aboard the vessel, worked silently until the dent had been repaired. He knew from experience that the younger mech needed time to cool down before he offered any advice and besides, sometimes he preferred to work in silence.

Once the minor repair was complete, Hoist set aside his tools and looked down at the moping youngster. "What happened this time, Mudflap?" He asked gently, crouching down to be optic to optic with the other.

"It wath all thupid Thkidth fault!" Mudflap huffed, mismatched arms folding awkwardly across his chassis. He was mad, yes, but more than anything…He was hurt. His brother was supposed to look out for him, not make him miserable! "He thaid you guyth were gonna take me apart again!"

Hoist's visor flickered in a gesture akin to a blink and he cocked his head. "No one has been planning on attempting that again." Though his mouth was covered by a mask, his tone suggested that he was frowning. "We've realized that perhaps that's not the best way to go about correcting the problem."

"…You ain't?" Mudflap drew back a little, surprised. Though he vehemently denied it when his twin suggested it, he'd been certain it was time for another round of useless repairs. He couldn't count the number of times his vocalizer had been tweaked and prodded at, mostly because he wasn't capable of counting that high, but also because there was no point in trying to keep track.

"No." Hoist shook his head, trying to be reassuring. The twins were young and -no matter how tough they tried to act- they were vulnerable. Their minds and personalities were still developing; it would be years before they were full-fledged adults. That was why the science team was working so hard to correct Mudflap's glitch; no one wanted it to be a permanent part of him once he was done maturing. "We have been looking at other alternatives, however, since we want you to function to the best of your ability."

"There'th nothin' wrong with how I talk…" Mudflap trailed off uncertainly, as if he was trying to convince himself of this. He didn't really see his speech defect as a big deal. Not as big a deal as the scientists seemed to think it was, at least. "Thkidth treath me like a thparkling…He'th all 'what Mudflap meanth ith…' and he have no idea what I wanna thay!" Another huff, "It ain't fair. I can talk jutht fine!"

Now, Hoist was rather fond of Mudflap. The youngling had that sort of naïve charm that came only from never having fought in a real battle before. But that didn't mean he was comfortable with lying to the younger mech. "Well, it is hard to understand you sometimes…" He said as gently as possible, "And wouldn't it be nice to not have others asking you to repeat yourself so often?"

Mudflap mulled this over, taking a minute to really think about it. He knew what he wanted to say, most of the time, and he had a lot of things to say. Usually, he was rushed and excited, so perhaps it was hard for them to understand him. "I gueth so…" He frowned, "But if you ain't gonna take me apart again, what _are_ you gonna do?"

The medic's shoulders sagged a little and he cycled air through his vents in a sigh. "We're not sure yet…We're still discussing the options. But I promise you'll be the first to know when we figure it out." Every one had been stressing over this, since the problem seemed to be getting more and more out of hand.

"Okay."

"You may leave now, but please refrain from getting in any further arguments with your brother in the near future."

"…I think I'm gonna thay here fo' longer." Mudflap curled up in the chair, still looking a bit dispirited and though he was very busy (tracking down the crew for their annual physicals was no easy task), Hoist didn't have the heart to turn him away. He knew the youngster was feeling a bit put out by his brother's torment - _that_ was a common enough occurrence to be common knowledge - and hoped that maybe things could improve once they'd sorted out the speech glitch.

"All right. Perhaps you can put away those tools for me." Hoist waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the aforementioned equipment and settled back at his desk, shuffling through a few data pads containing people's files. He smiled inwardly as Mudflap jumped to take care of the appointed task, enthusiasm returning full force. Hoist knew that it wouldn't be long before…

"Hey, Hoitht, didja know that Optimuth uthed to…"

Ah, there it was. Even if the problem wasn't yet solved, things were, at least momentarily, back to normal.


	3. Part 3

**Notes:** Um, what? I hope this part makes sense. It makes sense to me!

**lucidscreamer:** I have this habit of collecting obnoxious characters. I find them endearing. And I find Hoist simply adorable. So glad you like my style; I personally think I get wordy and long-winded from time to time.

**Misao-CG: **No one knows how to handle the situation! That's why Skids is being such a jerk.

**Nobility:** Don't get me going on *that* kind of lovey-dovey. You probably wouldn't like the places I would go XD

**ShiTiger:** I have this theory that the "red" twin in all the sets of twins is the more vulnerable, personable one. So I'm writing Mudflap to fit this theory.

Thanks for all the reviews (I've been blown away by the response to this little fic!) and on to the story!

-

Skids was worried about his brother. There was no denying it. Unfortunately, his way of showing this concern was to pick fights with him and that was precisely why they had wound up separated, Mudflap in the medbay with a superficial damage, Skids wandering aimlessly through the ship.

The twins hadn't been taught how to express their feelings verbally. They were surrounded by scientists who were, for the most part, socially clueless. So the young bots had grown, watching the occasional pats on the back or handshakes that came with new discoveries and breakthroughs, the heated arguments caused by scientific debate and the isolation that came with being wrapped up in one's work. And they had thusly translated that to something that worked for them; something they thought was normal.

Punching each other became the norm. It was how they expressed affection, worry, concern, fear; anything. The scientists - Perceptor in particular - found this behavior fascinating. Here were two emotional creatures in a sterile world, coming up with their own system of communication. _Fascinating._ Something to study.

Perceptor liked to observe them in an attempt to decipher what the gesture meant, given the circumstances. There were a lot of variables -- the location of the blow, the driving force behind it, the situation they were in, the moments that lead up to it, etc. Watching them together helped him learn to tell what they felt when they were apart.

Mudflap's doorwings were constantly dipping and rising in accordance with his moods. There was nothing unusual about this; it was a constant occurrence among mechs whose doors folded back to form wing-like appendages above their shoulders. By watching their rise and fall, Perceptor had learned to match other visual cues with their position and movement, making it easier to determine what exactly the mech was feeling. Skids was partial to the same mannerisms, gestures and movements, and it was thanks to Mudflap's doorwings that Perceptor had managed to gather any insight at all as to what the duo was feeling at a given time.

This series of observation and the conclusions he'd drawn from it were -for once- hardly the sole reason that Perceptor came to the understanding that Skids was very, very annoyed.

"It ain't right!!" The young mech was pacing the minute length of Perceptor's lab, hands curled to fists at his sides, "Why can't all a youse fix him? You all so smart…And when somethin's wrong, you s'posed to fix it!"

Perceptor didn't bother to look up from his current project. Skids was uninvited in his lab -he'd just barged in- and disrupting his procedure, and besides, he didn't _need _to look to know that the other was tightly wound, angry, and volatile. The tone of his voice and the sound of his jerky, stomping movements made that plain.

"It is hardly that simple, Skids." He intoned, finishing a quick calculation and running some numbers and data through his processor. "We have tried upon numerous occasions to perform repairs to his vocal apparatus. It is simply not possible. The malfunction always returns."

"So you sayin' he's stuck like that?" Skids bristled, stopping mid-step, and leveled a glare that could sheer through steel on Perceptor. How could that stuck-up, head-in-his-aft, fraggin' scientist act like he didn't even care? This was Mudflap's life they were talkin' about! And there was no way he was gonna settle for them saying 'sorry, we can't do nothing' and let other mechs keep on pickin' at his brother for something he couldn't help. "You some kinda genius researcher, ain't'cha? Well, research a way ta fix him, yo!"

Perceptor was not an infinitely patient mech when it came to Skids. Though both of the twins were rude, sophomoric and uncultured (and, of course, the scientists failed to realize this was primarily their own doing), Skids took it to a higher level than his twin, often aggravating any one in his presence. As it was, Perceptor wouldn't tolerate such rudeness, especially given the fact that they were trying their hardest to correct Mudflap's malfunction.

"You fail to understand and appreciate the situation, as usual." Perceptor spun on his work stool, turning to face the younger mech and rising to give him his full attention. "It isn't that we can't repair him. If it were merely mechanical damage, he would already be in perfect working order. But there is nothing physically wrong with him, and that makes it infinitely difficult for us to correct the problem. There is some other explanation for the problem, one which we have not yet discovered. And without knowing the root of the problem, we are simply incapable of correcting it."

Skids snorted, completely dissatisfied with that response, once he'd managed to make heads or tails of it. (Why couldn't Perceptor just talk like a _normal_ bot for once in his life?) He didn't buy that they were still sorting it out; it seemed more to Skids like they had no slaggin' idea what they were doing and just didn't want to admit it.

In truth, the science team _was_ stumped. Mudflap's speech impediment was a great mystery to them; one they were bound and determined to figure out and solve. But the process was slow -- they dealt primarily in technical, analytical and physical issues.

And because of their own limited understanding of feelings and social interaction, they had no way of knowing this issue was purely emotional.


	4. Part 4

**Notes:** Sorry for the long wait, all you fabulous readers. I've had this part written in a notebook for a long time, but was too lazy to type it. Forgive me and enjoy anyway :D

**Misao-CG**: Yeah, the scientists need help. Or just some time to relax. They're all way too into their work to have social lives.

**Kibble Beast: **Thanks! That's a big compliment, considering I wasn't sure I was doing Hoist well.

Thanks again for all the love. As always, reviews are much appreciated!

-

"They thaid they can't do nothin' to fix me."

Skids and Mudflap had retired to their quarters for the evening, the earlier fight silently and unquestionably both forgiven and forgotten. They hadn't, in fact, said much of anything to each other; the unnatural silence of the room was something any one would have found more than a little eerie.

Mudflap chose to break it, voice struggling through the silent stillness that had no place in their room.

"I know. They told me the same load of slag." Skids paused, allowing his anger over the situation a moment to grow, "Fraggin' scientists!"

"Thumthing really bad mutht be wrong with me…" Mudflap whispered, rolling, crawling off his bunk and scuffling through the darkness to curl up with his brother, "Even Hoitht thaid they dunno what to do an' he can uthually fix anythin'."

"Are you scared?" It was, for once, asked without any malice. Skids drew his knuckles across the top of his brother's helm in an affectionate gesture, surprisingly gentle, even if a little clumsy.

"I ain't thcared!" Mudflap protested, frame tense and curled a bit, "I jutht don't like it when I dunno what'th goin' on."

"Whaddya think they'll do to you?" Skids pressed, curious and worried at the same time. He didn't like this kind of uncertainty any more than his twin and here, in the darkness of their quarters, they were both free to express their fears and concerns, no matter how awkwardly and round about they were in doing so.

"I dunno." Mudflap's voice was faint in the darkness, "But no matter what, I ain't thcared."

In all truth, he _was_ scared, and therein lay the root of all his vocal problems. Though primarily a science vessel, the ship did house soldiers as well. The twins heard - and heard often - about the never ending war, the pain of losing comrades, the struggle, the strife and the hardships of the world outside the ship.

And it scared the slag out of Mudflap.

The young mech idolized Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. Any one who knew Mudflap knew this as well. He claimed that he wanted to be a warrior and serve among the Prime's ranks; that he would be the best soldier he could.

But what they didn't know, what nobody knew, was that the idea of war utterly terrified Mudflap. Those claims of future greatness were merely the words of a child; some one who hadn't seen life outside of the sheltered world in which he existed and didn't know the harsh realities of life.

He was scared to face their hated foes, the Decepticons. The soldiers' stories always made the 'Cons seem bigger, scarier and more brutal than tiny Mudflap could ever have imagined. What could he -one ineffective little glitch- do when faced with such an enemy? He would be destroyed in a spark-beat.

And Skids, he did things without thinking; they both did. What would become of him if something happened to his twin? They had never been apart before and he was positive he wanted it to stay that way. Nothing good could possibly come from separating them, and the possibility that one could offline in battle was very real and very frightening.

Everything outside of the ship was that fearsome thing the scientists called an "unknown variable." The world in which the twins were being raised was familiar and comforting and their lives were easy. They wanted for nothing; they were given everything. Mudflap wondered if his brother realized how lucky they were. Worried what life would be like when they were no longer in the science team's custody.

There was no one to talk to about all of these concerns. Sure, Mudflap could have gone to Hoist, who was practical and understanding. Or he could have confided in Skids, who would have listened and accepted. But Mudflap didn't want to appear weak -not in the eyes of his brother or the scientists- or be treated like a sparkling.

So he kept all of his fears and worries bottled inside, suppressed and hidden, until they manifested themselves in a way that would ensure his safety and continued stay on the ship. Though he claimed he didn't want to be treated like a sparkling, Mudflap wasn't quite yet ready to begin life as an adult.

His speech patterns, lisping and reminiscent of a child, were an unconscious gesture suggesting to the science team that, yes, he was indeed still a child and therefore still to be protected and kept safe.

"I ain't thcared of nothin'."

This statement was made with stronger conviction than the previous one, but Skids knew it was a lie. The way his brother was curled by his side, hugging his arm, was a dead giveaway.

He was scared out of his processor.

Skids just wasn't sure _why._


	5. Bonus Drabble: Naming Names

**Notes:** This is a little "I wonder..." scenario I cooked up. I was pondering on how Mudflap wound up with his name, since it's, ya know, a derogatory term in TF:A. Then, since I was already thinking about TF:A, I got to thinking about how Sentinel names his troops and this just kind of happened...

**Misao-CG:** Skids isn't an aft all the time…Just most of the time! And he really does love his brother. Anyway, here is the answer to your question about their creators.

**Kibble Beast, Elita One and WiEGoP: **My intent with this fic, in part, is to present another side of the twins. They got such a bad rep and so much hate that I felt I had to try to show them in a different light. I'm glad it's working! (I also just love characters with odd speech patterns/speech defects…)

Thanks for all the reviews! I hope you enjoy this little bonus/prequel/side story. We'll get back to the real fic next time!

-

Upon taking the twins into their custody, the science team found themselves with a little problem.

The two little mechs had been discovered in the smoking rubble of what had once been a housing complex in a lower income area. The Decepticons had attacked (_why_ they had chosen to attack this area was an unknown) in a destructive rain of bullets and bombs; the whole neighborhood was utterly devastated.

The twins were huddled under the scorched shell of an older, larger, offlined mech, two of only a handful of survivors. It appeared that the older Autobot had died trying to protect them and it wasn't difficult to conclude that he was one of their creators.

Their other creator…was scattered in pieces; it took the clean up crew days to sift all of her body parts from the rubble.

None of the other lucky few recognized the young, nearly identical 'bots; they all shrugged and mumbled things along the lines of "I ain't seen 'em before…" It was possible they _did_ know the children, but they were -understandably- preoccupied with their own grief and loss.

The scientists offered to take them in; they had always been interested in that rare phenomenon that was split-spark twins and it would be incredibly interesting to raise them. And so the paperwork was filled out and approved and the twins were entrusted to the care of the small science team aboard the spacecraft _Epsilon._

The problem was that no one knew their designations.

The twins were old enough to speak, and one of them did. He was, in fact, quite vocal. Unfortunately, he had a terrible speech impediment and no one could understand what he was saying. All of his words came out garbled and staticy, a mess of syllables and drawn out sounds. The other one seemed to be in some sort of shock and hadn't made a sound since they'd boarded the ship.

Their paperwork had been processed under newly given serial codes; their creation had never been registered and there was no file on either of them. Sadly, that happened often in less prosperous neighborhoods; citizens simply couldn't afford the fees necessary to register their young.

Their creators were dead. The other survivors claimed to not know them.

There was no one to tell them their names.

It was up to the science team to grant them new designations.

Skids was easy to name. They both transformed into small, four-wheeled vehicles and though he was currently the quieter, more shy of the two, he was a bit of a daredevil when it came to driving. He wasn't afraid to speed through the corridors, zipping around the _Epsilon_ like he owned the place.

Unfortunately, he wasn't a very _good_ driver and he was always crashing into things, slamming on his brakes and skidding to an almost-out-of-control stop. He left skid marks on the steel plated floor almost any time he went joyriding and there was almost always some one bellowing about the skids in the halls.

After a while…Every one just started calling him Skids. The name stuck; it seemed as if he liked it. It was almost like he was _proud_ of the tracks he left all over the ship.

His twin, on the other hand, was a little more difficult to name. The only thing he seemed interested in was following the scientists around and babbling nonsensically. Unfortunately, no one could come up with a suitable designation based on that and he went without one for quite some time.

Until one fateful day when a grumpy, gruff maintenance bot boarded the ship to perform some routine repairs to the engine. This particular Autobot had never met the twins before -repairs were rarely performed by the same mech twice- and didn't know their situation. When the nameless one began following him around and asking incomprehensible questions, he had turned to the nearest crew member in a huff, demanding that he "get the little mudflap out of his way so he could do his slaggin' job."

Skids, for whatever reason, found that hilarious and started laughing, choosing that moment to finally speak. Most of that speaking revolved around cackling and chanting "You a mudflap! Mudflap!" until his brother smacked him, all the while screeching his displeasure, and before any one could stop them, they were rolling across the floor in the first of many fights the science team was to witness.

After that, it was virtually impossible to shut Skids up. He chattered almost as much as his twin, though he was much easier to understand. He never uttered any other designation for either of them; he simply referred to himself as Skids and his brother as -much to the scientists' dismay- Mudflap.

It didn't matter how many times the scientists tried to correct him or how many other names they tried to bestow on his unfortunate brother. Skids called him Mudflap often enough that he eventually began to call himself Mudflap (or "Mudfwap," as he said it) and they had no choice but to accept that as his new designation.

They just hoped he would never ask how or why he received his name.


	6. Part 5

**Notes:** I couldn't get this scene out of my head, so I had to write it, even though it seems a little boring to me =/

**Misao-CG:** I hope this answers your query about reading and writing...

**To every one else:** Thanks for all the reviews and encouragment! Concrit and questions, as usual, are always welcome. Enjoy!

-

After Mudflap left the med bay, Hoist had retreated into his office.

Calling it an office was putting it nicely; it was actually a supply closet he had emptied out and refilled with a tiny desk. Space on the _Epsilon_ was limited and when his request for a proper office had been denied, he'd been forced to make do.

Because of its size, he didn't use the office much. Most of his work was done at the cluttered table in the med bay. But he had a lot of thinking to do and the best place to get thinking done uninterrupted was the closet-office.

They _had_ to find a reason for Mudflap's speech impediment soon. It wasn't just that it was becoming more frustrating for the science team since they couldn't figure it out. Nor was it that things were becoming more strained between Mudflap and Skids. And it certainly wasn't because Hoist was superficial enough to think that the young mech's glitch was something to be ashamed of.

No, it was because, in all the years he had known the twins, he had never seen Mudflap so disheartened over anything.

Mudflap was a spunky little mech. He had been since the first day he boarded the ship. Nothing had ever got him down before; not fights with his twin, not his speech problems, not his struggle to understand written language. Nothing. He was always cheerful and good-natured and he always bounced back from any setback.

Except, apparently, for this.

Hoist put his head in his hand, resting his elbow on his desk and trying to think of what he could do to help. Mudflap wasn't getting better, he was getting depressed. Maybe they should stop trying to fix him and let him be…No! They couldn't do that. Just because _they_ were used to him and accepted him as he was didn't mean the rest of the universe would. Things would be hard enough for him as it was, what with his distinct vernacular and failed attempt at literacy. He hardly needed a lisp to make things worse.

They had to keep Mudflap from being hurt by those that didn't understand. _He_ had to help. He felt responsible for the both of them and he knew Mudflap trusted him to make sure things were okay.

The memory of the day Hoist had been introduced to the twins never seemed to be out of mind anymore. The two nearly identical little mechs, with their faces so ugly only a creator could love them and their mismatched limbs, had been sitting huddled together and looking around fearfully when he entered the exam room at the medical facility. He'd been summoned by the head of the science committee to examine them after they had been rescued; their discovery in the burned-out remains of their neighborhood had delayed the launch of the _Epsilon_.

They were small, due -as he would later discover- to their family's poverty rather than their age. They were lacking in education appropriate for their age and sorely in need of an upgrade to their frames, but otherwise in good condition. Scared, and a little bit depleted, energon-wise, but in good condition nonetheless.

He'd made a little whistle-click sound at them, mistaking them for much younger mechs than they were. Much to his surprise, one of them had answered back in spoken language, though the words were garbled and mostly nonsensical. The other had just looked at him warily, scooting around in front of his brother protectively.

When he looked at them now, Hoist still saw them as he had in that first moment: Mudflap cheerfully innocent and outgoing, speech still a mess. Skids, protective, sometimes sullen, and willing to do anything for his brother, even when he must have been uncertain himself. They had changed so much, but in many ways, they _hadn't_; they were still the same small, predictable, funny-looking creatures they had been all those years ago.

He had promised them back then that he wouldn't hurt them and Hoist had always intended to keep that promise. He had been gentle and explained what he was doing while he was doing it to them during their examination, hoping to ease their fear. And it had seemed to work; they had slowly realize he wasn't going to harm them and relaxed and, now, he liked to believe that they trusted them.

So there was no way he was going to let them down. Especially not Mudflap, whom he enjoyed on many levels. The youngster was brash and loud and tried to be tough, but Hoist knew that he was also vulnerable and thoughtful and had a lot of lofty ambitions, and the medic was quite fond of him. Mudflap considered him a friend and he wasn't going to fail him now.

Venting a sigh, Hoist straightened and powered up his office computer, opening a browser and running a search on medical documents about speech impairments. He was somewhat surprised at the number of results that filled the screen, optics lighting at the realization that not all of the article titles were about problems that were solved through manual repairs.

It would be a lot to read through, but it was a promising start, given that none of their own theories had panned out. Most of Hoist's spare time would be consumed by wading through the information, but Mudflap deserved that much, at least, and perhaps an answer would come of it all.

But right now…It was time to get to work.


	7. Part 6

**Notes: **Sorry for the long wait!

I'm bringing Grapple into this chapter as a sounding board for (poor, long-suffering) Hoist. What I want to leave you wondering is "are they or aren't they?" because I totally ship it. You can interperet their relationship as you will.

As for what exactly Skids was trying to do...Well, you can just use your imaginations.

**Misao-CG:** I kind of like to think that Hoist is unoffically their "mom." I think Mudflap pretends that sometimes too.

As always, please enjoy and leave comments, concrit and questions in the form of a review. I will try to answer any questions or address any concerns!

-

"Speech therapy."

The sound of Hoist's voice alone would have been enough to make Grapple glance up from the blueprints he was looking over. The added _thunk_ of a data pad hitting the table near his elbow made the other mech downright impossible to ignore.

Not that Grapple ever would have intentionally ignored Hoist. Sometimes, he just got so caught up in a project that he forgot the rest of the world, but he was hardly the only mech with that problem and it wouldn't have been odd if it took more than one attempt to catch his attention, given the complicated design he was contemplating.

What _was_ odd, however, was the fact that Hoist chose those words as his greeting. Grapple was usually gifted with a 'hello' or a 'how was your day?' or even a 'what have you got there?' And it was peculiar to hear something else, given he hadn't seen Hoist all day -- Which he completely understood; the team's semi-annual physicals were approaching and that usually meant _a lot_ of prep work for the medic, but that didn't make it any less peculiar.

"What's that?" He asked as Hoist plopped into a chair opposite him across the small table. The medic looked downright cheery -not that it was easy to tell, given the face mask, but they had been long-time companions and Grapple was good at guessing at Hoist's moods- his body language suggesting it was hard to keep himself still.

"Speech therapy is the treatment of speech defects and disorders, especially through use of exercises and audio-visual aids that promote the development of new speech habits." Came the chipper reply, "This," He indicated the nearly-forgotten data pad lying on the table, "contains a most fascinating article on the subject. It was written by a researcher who witnessed the process while visiting a foreign planet."

Grapple waited for a moment before asking the oh-so-obvious "So what?" Hoist was obviously very excited about this article and its contents and he didn't want to insult his partner. But he didn't quite understand _why_ Hoist was so thrilled with the find, so the question inevitably slipped out.

"I think this may be something we can use to help correct Mudflap's speech defect." Hoist explained, visor shining, "We've ruled out many of the other possibilities in regards to his problem. There's nothing wrong with his vocal apparatus; all of its parts are in working order. His auditory reception is fine, so he's not hearing and repeating things incorrectly. It is not a processing glitch, either. This article mentions that some speech disorders such as Mudflap's are common among the young and emerge as a result of stress. Given that there's nothing physically wrong with him, this seems to be the most likely cause."

Grapple cocked his head as he rolled his blueprints and stored them safely in a cylindrical canister. "Hold on an astrosecond, Hoist. That's a great idea, but…" He set the container aside and picked up the data pad, glancing at it briefly, "There _is_ no stress in either of the twins' lives. They just hang out and do whatever they want."

"It does seem that way…" Hoist mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "But I suspect it's not true. It might be so if there were just one of them, but since there are _two_, Mudflap is in constant competition with his brother. He's aware of his academic shortcomings and the fact that Skids is 'smarter' than him. Skids is not quite so hyperactive and is also noticeably better at controlling himself. He's also constantly reminding Mudflap of this. And then there's the battle training they've begun…There's actually a remarkable amount of pressure on the two of them."

"And you think his way of dealing with it is his glitch?" Leave it to Hoist to figure this out when none of the braniacs could. Grapple smiled. "Well, if it is, I'm sure you'll be able t--"

He was interrupted by a huge _CRASH_ from somewhere out in the corridor, the sound echoing through the room, followed by a lot of banging noises and muffled yelling. It wouldn't take a genius to guess that a fight had erupted in the hallway and it wouldn't take much more than that to guess who the culprits were.

Hoist was out of his seat in a flash, Grapple clattering after him as the door slid open, revealing -expectedly- the twins.

They were in a tangled heap on the floor, limbs flailing, screechy insults and punches flying between them. It must have been quite the brawl; there was a Skids-shaped dent in the wall; his brother had undoubtedly thrown him there, the metal buckling with the sheer force of the impact. Mudflap, who was perched _on top_ of his twin and shrieking something incomprehensible, had a cracked headlight and a shreaded tire.

"What in the name of Primus is going on out here?"

Both of the twins froze at Hoist's startled exclamation, looking up contritely. For a moment, silence reigned in the hallway, then they exploded into wild chattering again.

"Thkidth tharted it!" Mudflap screeched, scowling and pushing a hand into his brother's face, shoving him back down towards the floor, "He wath tryin' to-"

"I didn't start nothin', yo!" Skids' arms were swinging wildly as he tried to deck his brother sight unseen, his voice muffled by the hand in his face, "It's all his stupid fault, as usual!"

Hoist sighed, vents cycling wearily. "Both of you…knock it off." He couldn't help but being curious about what they were arguing about this time that dissolved into this show of barbarity. "And drag yourselves to the med bay so I can repair you."

Looking somewhat apologetic, Mudflap climbed off his brother, who ignored his outstretched hand, struggled to his feet and stomped down the hall. Skids' posture was tense, though any anger he felt was probably really a result of the humiliation of being slammed into a wall hard enough to leave a dent. Mudflap limped after him, muttering something about exhaust ports.

…On second thought, Hoist didn't want to know.

The medic took a moment to compose himself, jumping a little when Grapple clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Well," The architect said, sounding almost too cheerful (which left Hoist wishing to cuff him, though he, of course, refrained from doing so), "I hope you're right about this speech therapy stuff so you can get this problem straightened out before they destroy the entire ship."


	8. Part 7

**Notes:** Next chapter will have some attempts at the actual speech therapy stuff. Parts of this chapter just wrote themselves and I couldn't ignore them.

**OrianPrime92: **I so ship it. But this story isn't about shipping, so it's up to the readers to decide if they are or aren't. Glad to know you like my ship too(?).

**Blume: **Yeah, the entirety of the _Epsilon's_ crew probably needs therapy.

**Misao-CG: **No, sorry. You can't take off with the nutjob twins. But yes, you can be some kind of wacky aunt. As always, the cookies are much appreciated :3

-

Grapple wasn't quite so cheerful when he found out he would be repairing the mech-shaped dent in the wall.

He hated doing menial repairs; he was an architect -an_ artist!_- not a maintenance bot. It was an insult to his creativity and a waste of his time, when others who were less talented than he could be doing the work he often found himself suffering through.

Besides, it had been the twins who had caused the trail of destruction down the corridor. They should have been the ones fixing it! Granted, he probably would have been stuck supervising them, but still! It should have been their punishment. That was what Grapple thought.

Well, it _was_ what he thought, until Hoist pointed out that they would probably botch the job, or get in a fight and cause even more damage, and Grapple would wind up doing the repairs in the end, anyway.

So he set to work, grumbling to himself about how underappreciated he was and how much of a waste of his time it was to be doing cosmetic repair to the ship, completely ignoring the rest of the crew, most of whom were giving him odd looks for talking to himself, anyway.

"I'm thorry." A voice suddenly said behind him, and Grapple turned more out of reflex than desire to learn who had approached him. The garbled speech gave it away as Mudflap even before the word 'sorry' was completely out of his vocal processor.

"We don't mean to do bad thingth." The youngster continued, "He jutht maketh me tho mad that thometimeth, I can't help it."

"Hoist makes me mad sometimes too." Grapple was busy removing sections of the wall plating so they could be flattened back to their usual smooth texture, "But I don't body slam him into walls."

"You thould try it!" Mudflap enthused, "It workth great!" Really, he knew no other way of stopping his brother from being a pest. Constant brawls, scuffles, tussles and wrestling matches had always been their way of settling things, as it had been their creator's before them (that little, they remembered -- but such was life in the slums.).

There was a moment of silence. Grapple continued with his work, grateful the interruption had -apparently- been short.

Then…

"Wait-a-nano…Hoitht maketh you mad?" Mudflap was suddenly invading the architect's personal space, curious and hovering. The smaller bot never imagined the medic could make _any one_ angry, much less _Grapple_, who he spent all his time with. Hoist was a patient, caring 'bot and it was weird thinking he might upset people.

"Yes." Grapple vented a sigh and glanced over his shoulder to look Mudflap in the optic, "And you know what I usually do? _Talk_ to him."

"There'th no fun in that." Mudflap grinned, cheeky, and started 'helping' with the repairs, not bothering to ask if it was okay. His idea of helping, of course, was to play with the tools Grapple had set aside for later.

"Getting your aft handed to you and spending time in the med bay is fun?" The builder asked dryly, not even bothering to turn and look at Mudflap this time. He wasn't quite as fond of the twins as his partner, but he didn't find them as obnoxious as some of the others. Maybe it was due to the fact that they didn't bother him often (they said his work was boring), but…Whatever the fact, Grapple didn't mind them. Much.

"Well…" Mudflap fidgeted, "It ain't boring, at leatht." Secretly, the little bit didn't mind spending time in the med bay. He loved spending time with Hoist -- Gentle, understanding, tolerant Hoist. The medic was the only one who didn't lose patience with Mudflap. Most other mechs aboard the _Epsilon_ complained often about one of two things: How hard it was to understand Mudflap or how he couldn't sit still and focus. But Hoist rarely uttered a word about either of those things and Mudflap loved him for it.

"Don't you and your brother get tired of acting like you hate each other?" Here Grapple did stop working, setting down his welder and turning to face the smaller 'bot. "If I didn't know better, with the way you're always pounding each other, I would think you didn't like one another at all."

Mudflap's optics flickered in a gesture akin to a blink and he cocked his head to one side. "Of courthe I like my brutha!" He exclaimed, "That'th why we fight all the time."

"…I'm not quite sure I follow." Grapple leaned against an undamaged portion of the wall, still regarding Mudflap curiously. The young 'bots -all of them, not just the twins- didn't seem to make much sense. Even the younger soldiers were a bit of a mystery to him; they just didn't do things the way older mechs did. It was all about excitement and battle and adventure for them and Grapple had already had his fill of that years ago.

"We don't wanna look like thparklinth in front a the tholdierth." Mudflap explained, arms waving a little, as if he were illustrating a point, "But thometimeth, we gotta, ya know, touch one another an' thtuff. Tho thomethimeth we fight even when we ain't angry inthtead a bein' weird and muthy." His frown indicated that he had just thought this through, though Grapple suddenly suspected it was something the twins had believed they needed to do for a long time.

The architect took a moment to ponder this, then turned back to his work and began welding the wall back together. "Well, perhaps you could find a way to show affection for one another without breaking the ship."

"Thorry." Mudflap repeated, jumping up to help hold the wall paneling in place for the other mech, "We don't mean ta break thlag." He paused, then grinned up at Grapple, "Gueth we'll jutht hafta do it when you ain't around."


	9. Part 8

**Notes: **I am SO sorry for the long delay and am grateful to any one who was patient enough to wait for this chapter. Please forgive me. I wanted to have this up and posted by Friday, but, well, it was a busy week at work and I was tired.

**Second Daughter of Eve: **Mudflap won't admit it, of course, but he secretly enjoys all these people adopting him. He so needs a mother in the worst way.

**OrianPrime92: **Sorry, no one will be drinking in this story. I agree though, they probably do need it.

As always, please enjoy! Questions, comments and concerns in the form of a review are encouraged!

-

Mudflap did not like spending time with Perceptor.

The scientist, of course, we overly-enthusiastic for a chance to work with one of the twins alone. They were almost always together, even if they were angry with one another. The science team had been studying the duo for so long, it was too easy to forget that they were two distinct, separate and different beings and Perceptor was, naturally, eager to learn the difference.

The smaller mech was a bit less enthusiastic. In fact, he was downright opposed to the idea. Mudflap was, for lack of a better word, shy. At least compared to Skids, who was fearless to the point of stupidity and a bit of a know-it-all. Rather than being intimidated by Perceptor -like Mudflap was- Skids tended to get into arguments with him, because no one could tell him something wasn't as he believed. When the twins were together, Mudflap was just as outgoing and noisy as his brother, but when he was alone…

He didn't even want to enter Perceptor's office.

"Why can't I jutht thtay wit you?" Mudflap whined as Hoist tried to push him through the door and into the other mech's personal office. The younger 'bot wasn't budging, however; he had a death grip on the doorframe and didn't plan on letting go any time soon. "I wanna thtay with you. Perthepthor ith tho boring!"

Hoist took a step back, pausing to recollect his thoughts. "We've been over this, right? I'd love to have you spend time working with me, but I have physicals coming up and that means a lot of work. As sorry as I am about it, I simply don't have the time to do this with you today." He really was regretful about it; Mudflap was dear to him and he knew Perceptor would be much more clinical than he intended to be.

"But I can help you while you help me!" Mudflap protested, fingers curling tighter around the frame of the door. "Pleathe don't make me go in there! He alwayth thaying thtuff I don' get an' I feel so thtupid!"

"He wants to help you…"

"That I do." Perceptor had suddenly appeared from somewhere in the semi-dark recesses of the room (Mudflap couldn't help but wonder why his office was so big and Hoist only got a closet for his own space), "Now come along; Hoist has work to do." He didn't quite smile, but he gestured into the room, a bit miffed by the fact that Skids often bounded in unwelcome, but Mudflap seemed to be doing everything to stay out. When the little mech wouldn't budge, Perceptor glanced up at Hoist, for once uncertain what to do.

Hoist shrugged as if he wasn't entirely certain what to do either (even though he _was_) and held up a handheld gaming device that he knew Mudflap was particularly fond of. "Maybe you should try this?" Though his tone was casual, it was pretty obvious that the toy was meant to be used as a bribe.

"Hey!" Mudflap yelped, "That'th mine!" He let go of the doorframe in favor of reaching for the device, only to have Hoist -who was much taller- lift it out of reach.

"After you're done with Perceptor," The medic cheerfully informed Mudflap, who tried and failed to make a jump for it and reach the handheld, "you can have this back." He paused, "Maybe."

"…Maybe?!" The youngster squawked, expression darkening to one of annoyance and something that might have been betrayal, "Whaddya mean, 'maybe'?"

Hoist smiled, patient and pleasant as always, "If you do a good job and listen, you can have it back."

"That'th no fair!" Mudflap wailed, hands curling into mismatched fists, optics shining bright with anger, "That'th blackmail!"

"No, that's bargaining." Hoist replied cheerfully, pushing the smaller mech through the door, "Have fun!" The door _shushed_ shut behind him, leaving Mudflap alone with one of his least favorite individuals.

The small mech glanced up at Perceptor, who really wasn't that much bigger than him, but seemed it, mostly because he carried himself better. The twins tended to slouch, giving them a hunchbacked appearance, while Perceptor had flawless posture and stood ramrod straight most of the time. He wasn't built to be a warrior and was therefore only lightly armed, but Mudflap still found him incredibly frightening, mostly because he was so smart and -unlike Skids- Mudflap was aware of his own ignorance.

"Walk this way." Perceptor said, indicating that Mudflap follow him further into the dim room. Mudflap was tempted to imitate that stiff, something-up-his-tailpipe stride of the scientist (one of the oldest jokes in the book), but that was only funny when Skids was around and that realization suddenly made Mudflap feel very small and alone.

He trailed behind Perceptor, wary, until they reached the scientist's surprisingly cluttered desk. Mudflap had never been this far into the office before, and he had always imagined that Perceptor was a little bit obsessive-compulsive and that everything would be neatly labeled and organized. Contrary to what he expected, however, there were disks and data pads and notes and image files and mineral samples and all sorts of other things strewn all over the desk.

It wasn't hard to guess that the out-of-place-looking extra chair opposite Perceptor's well worn chair was meant for him, so Mudflap sat, glancing around and nervously picking at a seam in his armor.

"Now," Perceptor began, sitting stiffly in his own seat, "Our goal for today is to isolate the sounds you have trouble articulating, so we can begin working to correct those issues and you can learn to say those sounds. I know some of them you have issue with, such as the 'S,' but I would like you to read from this list, so I can determine the rest of them." He reached across the desk and handed the youngster a pad full of simple words, each containing emphasis on a certain sound.

"…Read?" Mudflap looked at the list. He didn't think there'd be no reading involved with this! He could do it, of course; they were easy enough words. But reading was not his strong suit, nor was it something he enjoyed. It was something they made him do and he moaned and groaned through it.

"Yes, read." Perceptor had another pad ready in front of him, probably to take notes on this whole humiliating endeavor, and his keen gaze was fixed expectantly on the younger mech's funny little face. "If you would begin…?"

Mudflap slouched in his chair, glancing down at the list again with dread. It was going to be a LONG day.


	10. Part 9

**Notes:** Again, I apologize. I know it's been almost a month. I'm so glad so many of you are still interested in this story that you're being so patient!

**OrianPrime92:** The things worth doing are usually difficult. Mudflap is pretty used to Perceptor at this point.

**laureas:** Skids has an inferiority complex. That's why he picks at his brother all the time.

**Era Yachi:** Thanks so much. Comments like that make me glad I write.

Big thanks to every one who took the time to read and review! And now…On to the chapter!

-

"It ain't workin'."

Hoist glanced up, meeting the optics of the smaller 'bot sitting before him. Skids was frowning at him, idly swinging his legs as the medic examined his finger joints. They were constantly in need of fine-tuning due to the young mech's penchant for punching and hitting things and cleaning the grit out of the gears had become a routine part of Skids' physicals.

Unfortunately, it took a long time to get his small fingers back in tip-top shape, which usually left Hoist the unwilling audience to one of Skids' tiresome lectures about things most mechs either already knew about or wouldn't care about.

During this particular check-up, however, the young 'bot only seemed interested in talking about his brother.

"Give it more time." Hoist replied absently, bending and rotating his patient's digits one at a time and feeling for anything out of line in the movement, "We've only just started his therapy and the results won't be immediate. These things take time."

Skids looked at him suspiciously, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Or youse guys just ain't got any idea whatchu doin'. It don't seem like any one knows what's s'posed to be goin' on and that ain't gonna help Mudflap." This thought wasn't a new one; Skids had long ago begun to suspect that the scientists had no idea how to fix his brother's problem.

"You're right, Skids." Hoist said, causing the younger Autobot to look up at him in surprise, "We don't really know what we're doing. We understand the theory behind this treatment, but none of us have ever implemented it before. We are learning as we go, but I'm certain this will be beneficial for Mudflap."

Skids fell silent again, mulling that over. Though Hoist was not known to be dishonest, the younger mech was surprised that he had so easily admitted that he really had no clue what he was doing in regards to this so-called speech therapy.

The unusual silence reigned as Hoist gently released Skids' left hand and moved on to the right. The medic was too focused on what he was doing to really care about the quiet, though it registered somewhere in his processor as odd. Mentally, he shrugged, flexing the smaller mech's pinky and glancing up to look for signs of distress.

Skids' expression said that his own mind was elsewhere; that he didn't even realize what Hoist was doing. He still looked incredibly thoughtful, as if there was something he wanted to say, but wasn't quite sure what or even how to begin saying it.

"Is there something you want to talk about, Skids?" Almost as soon as the question was out of his mouth, Hoist expected he would regret it. But it was too late; he'd already asked. And besides…It really wasn't like Skids to stay so quiet. "You look as though you've got a lot on your mind."

There was another pregnant pause. Skids scratched at a patch of worn paint on his arm, looking everywhere but at Hoist, before he finally mumbled "I think Mudflap's scared a somethin'. I dunno what, but…" It was hard for him to admit; how could he say that when Mudflap wouldn't even talk about it? Skids felt a little bit like he was betraying his brother, but…It needed to happen. If any one could find out what was freakin' his brother out, it would be Hoist.

"Scared?" Hoist tipped his head, studying his patient, "Interesting." He had long ago begun to suspect that something was frightening his small friend; that Mudflap wasn't actually as brave and tough as he pretended to be. But he also knew that the young mech's pride would keep him from ever admitting it.

"He won't tell me about it, the fragger!" Skids huffed, snatching his hand out of Hoist's and folding his arms across his broad chest. He didn't do it intentionally; it was more that he completely forgot that the medic was even working on his hand. "How stupid is that? It's whacked! I'm his brutha; he's s'posed to tell me about that stuff! All he do is get mad and punch me when I ask him 'bout it."

Hoist took a step back, fighting the urge to press his palm to his forehead in exasperation. It was likely that Skids didn't ask about his brother's fears and weaknesses in a nice way; that the reason Mudflap didn't want to talk about it was that Skids wasn't exactly the most sensitive, approachable individual. But to tell Skids that…It wouldn't go over well.

Instead, Hoist pulled up his chair and sat, looking at the smaller 'bot solemnly. "Do you think this might have something to do with his speech problems? Could he be scared of something involving his speech and what may happen in the future if his problem is not corrected?" It was a long shot and Hoist didn't really think the two things were that closely related, but he did want to see what Skids thought about it.

Skids shook his head, legs swinging again. "Nah, I don't think so." He hopped down from the exam table and began pacing, hands waving to articulate his every word, "'Cause he says there ain't nothin' wrong with how he talks. Ta him, it's okay. He knows that you guys that matter understand him okay, so it ain't a big deal. He don't care that he talks like a stupid sparkling."

Again, Hoist refrained from reprimanding the little mech for his attitude towards his brother, his gaze following the pacing 'bot. "Then what _do_ you think is bothering him? You know him best; you should have some insight into his thoughts." He, as well as the rest of the science team, knew that the twins had both a strong bond and an almost psychic link. It was eerie how they always seemed to know what the other was thinking and could finish one another's sentences.

"Oh, it's probably somethin' really dumb." Skids scoffed, "What the slag do we got to be afraid of? We're trainin' with some of the best soldiers and we ain't got much to do besides that 'cept have fun and run battle simulations on the hand-held. An' some day, we're gonna bust some Decepticon heads when we hook up with Prime's team. Life is good."

"Life is good indeed." Hoist leveled him with another look, then rose. "You may go now; I'm all done," He informed the youngster, "And do try to keep those finger joints in better shape."

"Will do, doc!" Skids gave him a mock salute before rushing out the door, undoubtedly off to cause either more damage or more trouble, and Hoist shook his head, smiling to himself as he set about writing up the usual paperwork on the younger mech's physical.


	11. Part 10

**Notes:** Look at that; I'm updating in a timely fashion!

Knockout is an Autobot from the movie prequel "The Veiled Threat." I've never read this novel, but wanted to use an actual RotF Autobot, so I chose him and based his personality on the little blurb about him at the wiki. If any one has read this and that is not what he's actually like, please let me know.

The dynamic duo is featured again in this chapter and, yeah, they so are.

**Laureas: **I like to think that Hoist is one of those individuals who's always honest :)

**OrianPrime92: **Yeah, Skids is a large part of the problem, but not the only factor. And Hoist is patient because he's Hoist!

As always, thank you for reviews and happy reading!

-

"Perhaps I was wrong."

It was another peculiar greeting.

Grapple was starting to become used to them. It had been some time since he had received a proper hello from his companion, something which had once continued to surprise him, but now seemed normal. He knew Hoist was tired often; this was one of the more stressful parts of his job, with so many of the soldiers woefully overdue for their checkups, but the medic seemed more worn down than usual. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Hoist looking this disheartened.

"Wrong about what?" Grapple found himself asking, though he suspected that this particular comment had something to do with Mudflap.

"Mudflap's speech therapy." Hoist flopped -_flopped!-_ onto the oversized sofa, dragging a weary hand across his face, "It doesn't seem to be going so well. We're making very little progress," He paused, "If any."

The architect considered that for a moment, taking the time to move across the room and offer his partner a cube. "You're the one who said that these things take time." He pointed out as Hoist took the energon, "And speaking of time, when was the last time you fueled and got a little recharge? You look like slag."

Hoist ignored the jab, retracting his facemask to sip at the pink liquid. "We have given it time," He sighed, posture still displaying weary tension; shoulders slumped in defeat, "And it simply isn't working. In fact, I believe he is getting _worse_ instead of better." As his doubt in the procedure had set in, a thought had crept through the medic's processor: Perhaps they were making it worse by adding extra pressure. Mudflap had some performance anxiety; they had noted that long ago. But Hoist had reminded him time and again that this would be a slow process and that they only expected him to do his best! Surely he knew they weren't looking for overnight success…

Grapple sat next to him, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder, "You need to relax, Hoist. You're making Huffer seem downright optimistic with this attitude, and I know that's not you." The teasing earned him a faint ghost of a smile and the architect smiled in return, "You haven't had a break in a long time; you're overdue for some time off."

"Will I be taking this time off alone?" Now that Grapple mentioned it, Hoist did feel extremely tired. He was also suddenly aware that he had sorely been neglecting his partner; they hadn't had so much as a friendly chat in quite a while. "I'd love if you could stay for a bit."

"Of course. This is my down time as well." Grapple moved to sit beside his friend, ready to relax. His job was slightly less demanding than Hoist's, but he worked hard and even though he loved creating and implementing designs, he was officially declaring it break time.

"I suppose I can stay for a little while." Hoist seemed to visibly relax, tension releasing from his limbs as he settled further in to the couch, "Tell me about what you're working on now. I feel as if we haven't just talked in a long time since I've been so preoccupied with physicals and Mudflap. Have you completed those blueprints you were working on? Are you building yet?"

Grapple's expression shifted to one somewhere between a grimace and amusement and he gave his companion's arm an affectionate pat. "Talking about work is not exactly how I thought we'd spend our time off." At the questioning look Hoist gave him, the architect went on to elaborate, "I-"

Anything further he would have said, however, was cut off by the sound of stomping feet and door shushing open. Though there was no way to slam a sliding door, Grapple, who was distinctly aware of the suddenly changing atmosphere of the room, was positive that it would have been slammed if it was possible. "Hoist!" The newcomer -Grapple's memory banks provided the name 'Knockout'- looked incensed; hands balled into fists by his side, frame radiating keyed up energy. "That fraggin' little glitch has been playing us all!"

Grapple sat back, knowing that was the end of their down time. Knockout was a soldier, young and ill-tempered, his impatience rivaled only by his prowess in battle. Whatever he was going on about, he wouldn't forget about it until the issue had been addressed, and the architect mentally kicked himself for forgetting that they were in the common area, _not_ either of their quarters.

Hoist sat up, giving all of his attention to the younger mech. Though he had slid his facemask back into place, it was fairly obvious that he was frowning behind it. "What are you talking about, Knockout?" He asked. He didn't know the soldier very well, but he had recently given him a thorough exam and his less-than-savory traits were fairly obvious.

"I don't know what that little brat of yours is trying to pull," Knockout fumed, glowering as if whatever was pissing him off was Hoist's fault, "But there is nothing wrong with his speech."

"I have no idea what you're going off about," Grapple frowned at him, not at all pleased with the death glare the soldier had leveled on his partner, "But Hoist and I have known Mudflap since before you boarded this ship and he's never been able to speak properly. You had better start explaining yourself, soldier."

"He and that dopey brother of his" -Knockout knew he was treading in dangerous waters, but he didn't care- "had training with us today. They actually aren't so bad when it comes to fighting and Mudflap's got a lot of potential. Anyway, sarge must have been in a generous mood, because he was doling out the compliments and Mudflap was getting a lot of them. After, when we were all heading for the mess, I was walking behind them and heard him bragging to his brother about how 'awesome and kick-aft' he is and there was no sign of that slaggin' lisp that drives us all crazy."

"You're sure it wasn't Skids you heard?" Hoist began cautiously, expression suddenly troubled, "Their voices are almost identical." There was no way this was possible; he couldn't believe it. Mudflap was neither clever enough nor manipulative enough to have fooled them for so long. He simply didn't have the mental capacity to have pulled a stunt like that for so many years.

"I'm not an idiot, Hoist." Knockout snapped, "I know which one of them is which. If you doubt that, ask Jolt. He was there too." He folded his arms across his chest, still radiating anger and unbridled loathing, "And it's a fraggin' stupid game Mudflap is be playing, just to get attention and sympathy."

"He wouldn't do that!" Hoist found himself suddenly on his feet, surprised at how angry the accusation leveled on his young friend was making him.

"Wouldn't he?" Knockout scoffed, glaring at the medic, gaze sharp, "Would you fuss over him and spoil him if he didn't? He knows he's getting special treatment because of this so-called glitch and he's using it to his advantage. He's not as stupid as he seems, Hoist, and it's time you open your optics and see that."

In all the thousands of years they'd known each other, Grapple had never seen Hoist so angry as he was in that moment. He wouldn't have been surprised if steam had started to pour out of the medic's seams; he looked ready to blow.

But he kept his voice tight and modulated, never losing that air of politeness that had made him a favorite among the troops. "I suggest you leave now, Knockout." He said calmly, "And if you start slandering my patient before we get to the root of this, I'll have to report your actions to command."

Knockout glared at him for another long moment, then turned on his heal and marched out the door, muttering something to himself about the state of the universe, if little punks were allowed to get away with stunts like that.

Grapple glanced at Hoist, who looked visibly shaken and most upset. He wasn't quite sure what to say, so he said nothing, choosing instead to put a comforting arm around his partner in a show of silent support.


	12. Bonus Story: Important Things

**Notes:** Here's another little bonus story for you.

Robots-as-humans-for-no-explicable-reason. I started thinking about the kinds of things the speech therapist at my work would do with Mudflap and the thought wound up running away with me. So here you go.

Clearly, this is not part of the movie continuity OR the regular "Speech Therapy" continuity (I'm not writing the _Epsilon's_ crew into RotF). It does, however, take place after RotF and, in this drabble, Hoist and Grapple are, apparently, on Earth.

-

**Important Things**

"Those stupid slaggers couldn't tell us apart!"

"And they wath makin' fun o' our nameth!"

"Yeah, the morons. It ain't our fault what we named and that it ain't right fo' humans! And we ain't gonna be called by stupid human names that don't even mean nothin' or-"

"He got in trouble for pickin' hith nothe!"

"Yeah, well you was scratchin' yo' aft!"

"They wouldn't let uth thit togethah!"

"Said we'd cause way too much trouble if we did -who told 'em that?- and that we needed to work, not goof off!"

"The thpeech perthon ith really weird-"

"It don't seem like she know nothing!"

"-and the ain't nearly tho cool ath you! Why can't I jutht thtay wit' you, Hoitht?"

"Said I talk too much and the way I talk ain't right and mebbe I need speech stuff too. Can you 'magine that? What the slag, right?"

"He got thent to the commander 'cauthe he thlugged thomebody inna face!"

"…Only 'cause he told me you's a dopey lookin' idiot."

"HE THAID WHAT?!"

It was hard not to bury his face in his hands in exasperation, but Hoist managed to do it. He knew, of course, that Skids had punched a human in the face, but apparently, that was only the tip of the iceberg, as his young wards were informing him of numerous other misdeeds they'd performed throughout the day.

They had been stuck in organic bodies for two weeks now and the little twins -who were, according to Sam, about twelve human years old (and they certainly _acted_ it, Sam had informed them)- were driving every one up the wall. They were smaller and even more hyper than they had been as robots, capable of causing -though the older Autobots found it hard to believe- even more damage and mischief than before. The only time any of the adults got any rest was when they were sleeping, which didn't seem to occur often.

The end of the first week found the first arrivals all avoiding the twins like the plague, Sideswipe threatening to slaughter them at least once an hour, Grapple locked in an office with a sheaf of 'important' blueprints, and Hoist on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

It had been Sam's creator who suggested sending them to school, 'where kids belonged'. It would give them a chance to brush up on human culture, help them focus a little (hopefully), let them burn off some energy, give Hoist a rest and maybe some one would even be able to do something about Mudflap's speech impediment.

Plus, she had argued, it was that time of year where students were least likely to focus -right before the mysterious holiday called Christmas- so it wouldn't matter if they there a little disruptive.

It seemed like a great idea at the time -- Good PR for the Autobots, something different for the twins, gave Hoist a much needed break…

But now it seemed like the worst idea in the universe.

Hoist didn't even want to know how many other minor problems they'd caused throughout the day. He probably would have found out anyway, except their chattering about the day quickly dissolved into an argument and they went tumbling across the floor, pulling hair and smacking each other until they grew bored with it, then scampered off to rot their minds by way of video games and cartoons.

That left the medic alone in the kitchen, where he sank wearily down into a chair, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

Truth be told, there was no way Hoist could stay mad at them. He adored the twins; loved them as if they were his own creations. He knew they annoyed almost every one else, but he'd been taking care of them for so long that their small idiosyncrasies and odd behaviors didn't bother him any more. And now that they were in fragile human bodies, with stick-out ears and stick-up hair and spindly, gangly limbs, he found them even more dear. It wasn't their fault -- not that their processors weren't up to speed or the ADHD or any of it.

But what could he do? None of them had any idea how long they were going to be stuck like this (the twins were alternately cursing and praising Wheeljack's name -- It depended on their mood and whether they found something good about the situation or bad) and they had to make the best of it, but he wasn't sure any more how to solve this problem of the twins' behavior.

Or how to keep his own sanity in the meanwhile.

He was still pondering the dilemma when Grapple wandered into the room, a file folder and T-square under his arm, pencil tucked behind his ear. He had this way of looking disheveled even when he was neatly groomed -he had almost a little bit of an absentminded professor look- that Hoist found oddly appropriate and he was almost always carting around graph paper, tools, bits of things for scale models…Almost anything that could be used as an excuse for escaping the insanity that was the twins.

Hoist loved him to bits -they had been friends for a _long_ time- but he sorely wished his partner would stop avoiding the problem at hand and help him with their charges.

"I won't bother asking how it went." Grapple set his things on the table and -as if on autopilot- put a kettle on to boil. He knew there was no reason to ask if his friend _wanted_ tea; the medic looked as if he needed it. Badly. And he wasn't really sure how else to help Hoist, anyway.

"Skids punched a human." Hoist flopped forwards, head against the table, posture clearly displaying exasperation and weariness, "Mudflap couldn't stop moving and proved to be a constant, noisy distraction." He sighed dramatically, "Perhaps this wasn't a good idea…"

Grapple plunked a mug down in front of him, brow quirked. "Only perhaps?"

Hoist perked back up at the scent of the tea, taking it gratefully and wrapping his hands around the mug, reveling in the soothing warmth. A sheepish grin crossed his face, "Okay; okay…It was a _terrible_ idea."

"Only terrible?" Grapple plunked down in a chair across from him, opening the file and removing some schematics. He paused to glance up at Hoist, then plucked the pencil from behind his ear and made a note on one of the papers.

"Fine, it was the worst idea ever." This time, the medic was laughing, worry over the situation slowly dissipating as he sipped the tea (his one major weakness as a human), "But at least it wasn't _my_ idea…"

-

Two days later found Hoist in a chair in the twins' classroom, face to face with the flustered-looking teacher. The medic could tell that the poor woman was at her wit's end; she seemed jittery and tense. Though he could appreciate that, he couldn't help but thinking that she shouldn't have been so stressed already. It had only been three days for her and he had known the twins for centuries. It didn't seem fair that he had been called in here to be reprimanded for their behavior, when she got to send them home and he was dealing with them the other sixteen hours of the day.

Or maybe he was just so tired that he wasn't thinking straight.

"I'm sure they must be delightful children…"

Oh. Ouch. It was the wrong way to begin and it immediately set the medic off on the defensive.

"…But they are impossible. Every one is having difficulties telling them apart, to begin with. And they seem to enjoy that; they're constantly trying to switch places. Really, the only way we can tell is when they're speaking, since they sound distinctly different. Skids is, as far as I can tell, intelligent, but his impulsiveness and poor judgment often interrupt his thought process. And he likes to talk, doesn't he?"

Hoist opened his mouth to answer, but she didn't give him the chance, just barreled on with her tirade.

"And Mudflap, bless him, simply can't contain himself to his seat. He seems to be trying, but unable to remain still long enough for it to make a difference. He is friendly and outgoing, but doesn't seem to know how to behave around other children. His poor speech is also already becoming the butt of many jokes. I'm afraid children at this age can be quite cruel…" Another pause followed, as the teacher seemed to be collecting her thoughts, but -again- it wasn't long enough for Hoist to jump into the conversation, "And I'm a bit worried about their literacy skills as well. It seems that-"

This time, the medic cut her off. He hated to be rude, but enough was enough. He was already well aware of the challenges that came with educating the twins, as well as their shortcomings. He didn't need a rehash of it from some one who didn't even know them.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, ma'am" -He wasn't, really- "but I am already aware of many of these issues. There are some things you probably don't understand about the twins that perhaps I can shed some light on."

The teacher, who'd looked somewhat taken aback by his sudden interruption, sat back in her chair. "Then please do tell, Mr.…Hoist."

"The twins' primary function is _not_ that of the academic or intellectual variety. They are designed to be nothing more than service bots or perhaps low level soldiers. We will never know what their fate would have been, were their creators not destroyed, but we are nonetheless pleased and surprised by the strides they have made. They are both quite capable of reading, though it is neither of their strong suits. And you must take into consideration that their native tongue is not _your_ native tongue." Hoist was frowning, brows drawn in concentration. It was not right how this woman -who was supposed to be an educator and nurturer- was so ready to cast aside his charges after such a short period of time.

"Furthermore, their individual problems can be met head on, with a little patience and work. I have been watching over them since long before your creation and know that, while they seem brash and undisciplined, they are both quite loyal and, with the right kind of attention, can make great improvements. And is it not your function tp offer them your support and assistance in meeting their educational needs and goals?"

He didn't mean to sound accusing, but he couldn't help it. These were his _children_ they were talking about; he had been raising them for a long time. She had no right to be so…so…He wasn't even quite sure what word would apply, but it bothered him that she seemed so opposed to their being there.

"Yes, but…I feel as though my classroom is ill-equipped to meet their needs." She began slowly, leaning forwards, elbows on her desk, fingers steepled, "Perhaps they are more suited for one of our…" She paused again, trying to find a tactful way to suggest the twins be removed to a special education classroom, "…more structured rooms, where more support can be provided. We could work out behavioral and educational plans for them. We have many programs that offer more one-to-one support, plus Mudflap would be able to see the speech therapist more often and-"

"That is the last thing they need." He cut her off again, this time not at all concerned with being rude. "Skids will learn the routine. If you are firm with him -as I expect you should be with any ill-behaved youngster- he will respond and listen. He talks excessively because he hopes desperately that he will be noticed and praised for his knowledge, because he is not as skilled a fighter as his brother. And Mudflap's speech issues correlate directly with his ease in his surroundings and will correct themselves with time, as he becomes more accustomed to the situation. His attention deficit is manageable, if he knows what is expected of him, information which I suspect you have not provided, given you are used to your students having already attended a school. You have hardly given them sufficient time to adjust, and you are already expecting them to perform as the rest of your students do. I do not find that fair in the least." Here he paused, suddenly remembering the need to breathe, and absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair.

The teacher looked at him, a small frown on her own face. He was an attractive man, with patrician features, conservative clothing and a slight, almost-British-sounding accent. He was nothing like the two rambunctious hooligans that had been terrorizing her for the past three days, who were awkward and gangly and spoke as if they just crawled out of a gutter. "I've heard rumor of why you decided to send them here and I don't think _you're_ being fair. If it's true that you dumped them on us because you're sick of them…" Her voice was carefully neutral, but Hoist could easily detect the hostility, bitterness and accusation that flickered across her face.

"Imagine looking after them for an entire day." He said it bluntly; he was not one to mince words, "Imagine the trouble they can get into in familiar surroundings. Too put it simply, I am exhausted and need a break. I am in no way 'sick' of them. I am also a medic, and have a duty to many others."

She folded her arms, not at all moved by his plight. "Can't any of your people baby-sit them for a while? That is NOT my job." Annoyance had crept into her voice and her brows drew together, the corners of her mouth turning down further, "I understand that there are many of you at that military base."

"There are many others," Hoist agreed, "who have duties to carry out. Even my longtime companion is of little help." When she opened her mouth to say something further, he continued on, "And I don't begrudge him that. We all have our functions and must see to them. I am their primary caregiver and it is my duty to look after them and keep them out of trouble, not any one else's. After the death of their creators, it was I that they imprinted on. They listen to and respect me because of this, and because I do the same for them in return."

Here, the medic stopped speaking and rose from his chair, bright blue gaze never leaving the woman's face. "If you, however, are unable to handle them, I will remove them from this institution and keep them at base. Perhaps they are exhausting and troublesome, but I would much rather have them in a place where they are liked and respected as the individuals that they are than here where they will be neither wanted nor appreciated. And now," He inclined his head politely, "I will stop wasting your time."

And with that, he was out the door.

-

Grapple was waiting on the sofa for him when he returned, something which somewhat surprised Hoist. But his presence was hardly unwelcome; the medic sank down beside him wearily, hands folded in his lap.

"I told her that I will not send them tomorrow." He informed Grapple, who turned to look at him, expecting defeat. Instead, what he saw in his friend's eyes was a renewed sense of determination, coupled with the usual quiet dignity he maintained. "Or again at all."

"…You gave up your free time for them." Grapple edged closer, resting a gentle hand on his partner's arm. Hoist perked up a little at the show of support, smiling suddenly and leaning into Grapple's side.

"I hardly consider it a sacrifice." He murmured, "Something which I learned today. Perhaps that school isn't the best place to educate them, but it taught me something. I like them just as they are, worrisome behavior and all. I don't want them to change and stop being themselves, which is what that human wanted of them."

"You're too kind, Hoist." Grapple smiled, fond. He felt a little guilty, too; Sam's creator had given him a lecture while Hoist was gone, reprimanding him for not helping his friend more. _"You're his _partner_, Grapple." She'd told him, hands on her hips, lips pursed, "And by human standards, that means you're half responsible for them as well. He's not a single parent, so you shouldn't be treating him like one." _It hadn't occurred to him prior to that that he should be doing anything to help out; Hoist was their caregiver. But the woman had a no-nonsense way of tackling a problem, and it had left him feeling overwhelmingly remorseful for not thinking to offer his help. "And, um, if you ever need a break…You can count on me to help."

At that, the other man's face lit up, a beaming smile brightening his face. Grapple was surprised when Hoist impulsively and enthusiastically hugged him -they were both usually much more reserved in their displays of affection- but returned the gesture, if a little tentative.

"Thank you." Hoist's smile didn't fade in the least as he sat back, all of the tension draining out of his body. Grapple felt like an idiot; if only he had offered to help out sooner! If that was all it took to make his friend so happy…

Grapple returned the smile easily. "It's no problem. You deserve it."

"Where are the two of them, anyway?" Hoist suddenly looked around, noticing for the first time how quiet it was. There were no sounds of anything breaking, no screaming, no thumping or crashing, nothing but peaceful silence. And now that he thought about it…It was kind of eerie.

A ghost of a frown crossed his companion's face. "In their quarters, I believe…I think they finally got it through their thick heads that they're in trouble and Skids even mumbled something about homework."

"I see…" Hoist nodded, disappointing Grapple a little by getting up and heading down the hall, seemingly lost in thought.

Mudflap and Skids were in their room, curled up together on their bed and trying to make heads or tails of a book they were supposed to be reading for school. The room, of course, had two beds, but they preferred to share one and the other had an untouched, pristine and out of place look to it. Mudflap was nestled against his brother's side, a hand wound through Skids' hair (no wonder it was always sticking up…), as he struggled to sound out a word. "Thith maketh no thenthe!" He whined, throwing the book across the room in frustration.

"I know that, stupid." Skids shoved him away, crawling over him to go and retrieve the book, "But you know we gotta do it."

"No you don't."

Both of their heads jerked up at the sound of Hoist's voice. Neither of them had noticed when he'd appeared in the doorway, watching them struggle with human literature because they thought it would make him happy. It had tugged at his spark instead; how could he let them suffer like that? Academics just weren't their thing. "You're not going back there." A pause, "Ever."

They were silent for a split second, then they exploded into wild chatter, jumping on the bed and blabbering about how awesome that was. Mudflap even went so far as to spring at him in excitement, bouncing off the bed and latching on to Hoist, sending him crashing to the ground in the process.

"Nice goin' afthead!" Skids cackled, falling back onto the mattress and laughing maliciously.

"Oh thorry!" Mudflap squeaked, instantly contrite about his impulsive behavior. "I didn't mean to! I wath jutht…exthited." A sheepish grin crossed his face, "'Cauthe I jutht hate that fraggin' academy."

"It's okay." Hoist gave him a pleasant, reassuring smile. "I should never have sent you to that place to begin with. It was not right for either of you and I apologize."

"We don't mind."

"It wath kinda fun metthin' wid all thothe humanth."

"Yeah, teach looked like she was gonna offline if one a us even smiled."

"An' that food fight wath _tho_ worth gettin' thent to the offithe."

"So we didn't mind much."

As they erupted into chatter again, Hoist glanced between them, fond. It didn't matter so much that they were bad, no matter how exasperated he got with them. The important part was that they were _his._

He silenced them as they were high-fiving, simply by lifting a hand. "I'm glad the experience hasn't damaged you at all." He said cheerfully, picking himself up off the floor and straightening his clothes, "That said, I have work to do. Do try and keep out of trouble for a while."

They both saluted, as was their usual response to such a request. The gesture was almost purely mocking, but Hoist didn't mind. "Oh and Twins?"

"Yeah?" They replied in unison, heads cocked, mirror images of one another.

"Don't ever change."

They looked at one another for a moment, faces screwed up in thought, then broke into identical grins.

This time, they saluted and meant it.

-

Holy cow, this wound up being LONG. Way longer and different than I expected. I hope you guys liked it anyway.

Next time will be more of the real story (which I should have been writing instead of this, but I got it in my head and had to get it out); I promise.


	13. Part 11

**Notes:** Hoist is going to be something of the bad guy in this chapter. He's just trying to do what's best for Mudflap, though!

**Kiruya: **Glad I could change your opinion of them. Part of the reason I wanted to write this was to flesh them out more and explain their behaviors a little.

**laureas: **Good, I'm glad to know I did Knockout okay. He'll get another talking too later; don't worry.

**Cliffjumpersfangirl:** Good guess! You're pretty much spot on about the reasons for Mudflap's lisp.

**D. Huynh: **He is a brat, but he's not trying to fool any one. Don't worry.

**OrianPrime92: **Pfft…Grapple doesn't help him with anything!

Whew…Lots of responses today. Anyway, on to the story! As always, happy reading and don't forget to leave questions, comments and concrit in the form of a review.

-

"We need to talk."

Mudflap glanced up from the little gadget he was fiddling with, a questioning look crossing his face. He'd found some old toy one of the scientists had crafted for him and his brother long ago, broken it and was no trying (and failing) to fix it. It didn't really matter; he was too old for such things any way, but he was bored and it gave him something to do, at least.

Hoist had appeared at his right, and though it was hard to tell because of the face mask, something seemed…off about him. Mudflap could instantly tell that he wasn't happy, but wasn't quite sure _why._ After all, he'd been good lately; hadn't even gotten in a fight with Skids! They'd been busy with training and he'd been suffering through his sessions with Perceptor (the word "grueling" often came to mind when he thought about that, even if he wasn't one hundred percent sure it was the right word) without _too_ much complaining.

He couldn't think of anything he could have done to upset the medic, but Hoist _seemed_ upset.

"'Bout what?" Mudflap sat up a little -he'd been slumped on a couch in the Epsilon's common area- and tossed aside the mangled toy. Hoist sounded serious, and the smaller 'bot knew better than to fool around when he was in that kind of mood. Hoist wasn't so solemn often, after all; usually, he was cheery and upbeat.

"Knockout told me something interesting earlier." Hoist sat beside him on the couch, gaze never leaving his funny little face. He looked as though he was searching for something, but Mudflap wasn't sure what.

He made a derisive sound somewhat akin to a snort, doorwings twitching. "What'd that fragger hafta thay?" It was no secret that the twins didn't like Knockout and vice versa. He was arrogant and impatient and they didn't like him because he was always saying he was better than them. So what if he came from a different part of Cybertron? That didn't automatically make him a better soldier, nor did it make him a better mech, either. Neither of them liked his attitude or the way he looked down on them.

But besides that…Mudflap had another secret reason for disliking Knockout. They had gotten into an argument once, after the twins were praised for how well they worked together during training exercises (a rare occurrence, given that they were usually arguing too much to pull it off). Their twin bond made it possible for them to communicate in a way others could not and when they actually stopped fighting and listened to one another, they were quite effective, which usually earned them the admiration of the older soldiers.

Mudflap had been glowing with pride after that particular session, but Knockout, who'd not done so well during drills, had been in a particularly surly mood. He'd cornered the happy youngster in the mess, sneering at him about how the soldiers all thought the twins were so great, but nobody realized what a weakness it was, relying on some one else to be an effective fighter. _"_Your brother sucks at combat." He'd jeered, "Worse than you. And he's a liability. Someday, he's going to get killed and then what? You die too, because we all know what happens to twins who lose their other half. I would rather be reformatted as a cleaning drone than have to share my spark. You make each other weak and that's a disadvantage the army can't afford to have."

Angry and frightened by the truth in the statement, Mudflap had swung at him, fists and insults flying. They had been separated by a couple of the soldiers, but neither of them ever explained to any one what the fight had been about. It hadn't mattered; they were always sniping at one another. And Mudflap had never told any one -not even Skids- what Knockout had said to him, and it haunted him still.

"Mudflap…" Hoist trailed off, knowing that any reminder about proper language would only fall on deaf audios, "He said something I didn't quite believe, but felt we should discuss. He told me he overheard you talking to Skids about training and," The medic paused, uncertain as to whether or not he really wanted to do this, "you didn't have even the faintest trace of your speech impediment. Now why do you think he would say a thing like that?"

For a moment, Mudflap looked shocked, optics wide, the usually sleepy-bored expression gone from his face. That was followed quickly by anger, his hands balling into mismatched fists, doorwings flaring up into a position Hoist knew expressed hostility. "Becauthe he hateth uth!" The younger mech burst out, "He alwayth tryin' to get uth in trouble fo' no reathon!"

"Jolt was with him, Mudflap. He confirmed what Knockout said." Jolt had been reluctant to admit it, when Hoist asked him about it. The young soldier was friendly with almost every one and didn't like to make that sort of waves; spreading rumors was not his style. "Knockout thinks you have been trying to manipulate us for some time." Hoist continued quietly, "That you are perfectly capable of speaking properly all the time, but choose not to." He hated to say it, but this story told by the two soldiers had left him uncertain of anything regarding Mudflap's problems.

This time, a look of absolute betrayal passed across Mudflap's face. "An' you b'lieve him!" The smaller mech shrieked, leaping to his feet, frame tense, "You think he'th right, o' you ain't gonna be thittin' here, tellin' me thith! That fraggin' afthead ith lyin' t'you an' you b'lieve him!" He started pacing, furious, feet stomping, "I ain't done nothin' to nobody. Why'm I gonna do thomethin' that dumb? Thith how I alwayth talk!" He was worked up; wound tighter than a spring.

"Mudflap, I'm sorry, but this had to be brought out into the open. If it was just one mech, I wouldn't have bothered. I know Knockout is hot tempered and rash and that there is no love lost between you. But Jolt agreed with him. They were both adamant that it was _you_ they overheard, not Skids. And that you were speaking perfectly clearly. I'm just trying to understand how they could have come to believe that." Hoist's voice was still quiet, though a soothing tone had crept into it. He hated seeing Mudflap so upset; he was the small mech's biggest champion, after all. But they _did_ need to talk about this. If it was true, it was a good indication that perhaps the therapy was working after all. "I don't think you would ever do something like that."

Mudflap stopped in his tracks at the sound of Hoist's voice, not accusing, not angry…just calm. He _didn't_ believe them. He was just as confused as Mudflap himself. All of the fight went of the young mech and he slumped a little, wings sagging. "Th'hate uth." He said slowly, "They hate _me._ Thay I'm thupid an' utheleth. But he'th jealouth, 'cauthe 'm a better fighter than him. Knockout'th thayin' thtuff like that 'cauthe he hate me."

"Oh Mudflap…" Hoist rose, putting a comforting arm around the youngster's shoulder. "No one hates you." Mudflap curled against him, displaying a vulnerability he hadn't show in a very long time, and he made a little soothing sound, wondering how he could help fix this. Mudflap had a habit of being very hard on himself, and none of them were quite sure why.

-

**Another note:** Here's one for you guys:

If I were to write more things in the AU that "Important Things" took place in, would you like/read that? I was kind of considering doing some more work with that human AU after I finished this story. Would any one be interested in it? I'll only bother to post anything further I write if people want to read it.


	14. Part 12

**Notes: **Aha! We're at the crux of the problem, here. Now Hoist can begin sorting things out.

**OrianPrime92:** Grapple has no idea what to do, simply because Cybertronian family units aren't quite the same as those of humans. Hoist is the primary caregiver, so to Grapple…He's gotta do all the care giving!

**Cliffjumpersfangirl: **Mudflap won't admit it, but he totally appreciates your offer for hugs.

Onwards and forwards! Read, enjoy, leave concrit.

-

Given Mudflap's current emotional state, Hoist decided it would be beneficial to both of them to spend some time together. He knew he had been neglecting his charge somewhat, though this was out of duty rather than design. It didn't matter that Hoist had no real control over when people got injured or when annual physicals were to occur, he still felt guilty for not finding the time to work with his charge on a regular basis.

Both of them were overdue for a refueling; Mudflap had been training earlier -he looked weary- and Hoist himself often got too involved in his practice to remember when to fuel. Mealtimes were always excellent times to enjoy the company of others and the medic's suggestion that they head to the mess was met with enthusiasm.

Mudflap perked up considerably just on the walk down the ship's corridors; he'd missed spending time with Hoist. Aside from Skids, the medic was one of his favorite mechs in the universe and they'd hardly seen each other at all over the past few days. Hoist had been _so_ busy, with mechs coming and going for check-ups, soldiers dropping by his office for repairs after harsh training, meetings with the other members of the science team and the other miscellanea that came with being a vital member of the _Epsilon's_ crew.

"We been trainin' hard." He informed Hoist, who glanced over at him as they sat down at a table. He sprawled in his chair, fiddling with his cube before taking a sip from it. "They thay we improvin'."

"That's good." Hoist's voice was cheerful, posture relaxed and casual. He wasn't letting Knockout's accusation bother him anymore; it simply _couldn't_ be true. Mudflap might have been a nuisance and a troublemaker, but he had never done anything deliberately malicious in his entire life. "Tell me about it."

"They got uth workin' more with weaponth. Thaid we good at hand-to-hand and we needa learn other thtuff now." It was hard to get Mudflap to stop talking once he started; he liked to shoot the breeze. Hoist smiled, patient, as he chattered on and on about the weapons they'd been trying out, the battle simulations they'd participated in and all the other random training things that came to mind.

"Altho thaid we gettin' better at syncin' our mindth and movementh." A frown crossed his face and Mudflap's gaze dropped to the table, as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. "An'…" He hesitated, fidgeting and looking at everything except Hoist.

"And what?" The medic prompted gently, hoping that the younger mech would open up and confide in him. His body language was saying that he was worried; that there was something he wanted to say that he didn't think Hoist would approve of.

The question was followed by more fidgeting; Mudflap was practically squirming in his seat. "They been thinkin' bout axin' you guyth 'bout reformattin' uth and inthallin' combiner programmin'…" He trailed off, hunching a little and keeping his gaze focused on the tabletop.

Hoist was stunned.

Not by this little bit of news; that was unsurprising, given their unique bond. They were well suited for combiner programming, since they had come online with a near-psychic bond and were constantly in tune with one another's thoughts and movements. Hoist knew that they had shown vast improvements in their training lately, that they'd been working better together. He wasn't positive that the programming was ideal for them, but…that was something to talk over with the others.

What shocked him, rather, was Mudflap's reaction to his own announcement. He had shut down completely, frame going tense, shoulders slumped, wings drooping. Prior to that, he had been upbeat and generally excited to talk about his training, hands waving, a goofy grin on his face. Now he looked serious, solemn and scared, body language suggesting sheer discomfort.

"Mudflap…" Hoist rose, coming around to sit beside his young friend, rather than across from him, and put a comforting arm around him. The smaller mech practically molded himself to his side, again displaying the frightened vulnerability he'd earlier shown. As soon as Hoist was close, Mudflap's fingers were wrapped around his arm, face hidden away. It was the behavior of a child -- and a very young one at that. "What are you afraid of?"

"…E'rything."

The smaller mech's voice came so softly Hoist was certain he must have imagined it. For a moment, he didn't say anything, just tightened his arm around Mudflap's shoulders, supportive and caring. It must have taken a lot for the youngster to admit to his fears; he'd been denying them for so long. Mudflap -well, both of the twins, really- liked to act tough. They tried to present themselves as fearless, though Hoist was somewhat aware of a myriad of small fears they both shared.

"What'th gonna happen ta uth?" Mudflap whispered, fingers finding and curling under a piece of plating on Hoist's arm, "Wha' happenth if we ged thent off ta war'n'one a uth offlineth? Id 'thpecially dange'wuth if we a combinah unit." His speech was deteriorating more with every syllable, voice becoming fainter and fainter, "All a da tholdierth t'ink id awethome ta have uth awound, bu'…dey dunno wha'th ith like fo' uth 'cauthe none a dem twinth…Id fwaggin' scawy!"

It was at that moment -as the young mech punctuated the statement by burrowing even closer- that Hoist had a sudden flash of brilliance.

Mudflap's fear and his speech impediment _were _directly linked. It was evident, a likely hypothesis, given how only seconds before, he'd been talking as close to normal as Hoist had ever heard from him, and now his words were nearly incoherent. The thought of the things that frightened him was enough to make talking near impossible; his fear was almost paralyzing in its intensity.

That changed everything. It was no longer a matter of what to do about his speech problems; now they had to figure out how to deal with and assuage the fear, which would be no easy task, given Mudflap's penchant to bottle up said emotion.

Hoist vented a sigh, giving the small mech at his side another hug and pondering how to go about solving this new problem. This whole situation was getting more and more complicated and the medic couldn't help but wonder why, for once, things couldn't get _better_ instead of worse.

-

**Another note:**...Spell checking this thing is a pain in the aft XP


	15. Bonus Story: T'is the Season

**Notes:** Here is another bonus story for y'all. This one is a Christmas story, set in the same robots-as-humans AU as "Important Things" was.

My family is Catholic. We celebrate the four weeks of Advent, each of which revolves around a certain theme. Though this story contains no mention of religion, I've written the four short stories comprising the overall story to each focus on one of these themes, even if it only does so in a small way.

**Warning: **This story contains much fluff of the gay variety.

Enjoy and Happy Christmas, every one!

-

**Hope**

"Hey Hoist! Mudflap's leakin'!"

"Id hid fawt!"

Hoist's head rose quickly and he swiveled in his chair to look at the twins, alarmed. 'Leaking' was never a good thing and Mudflap's voice sounded more garbled than usual.

He had been enjoying a steaming mug of vanilla caramel tea, his new favorite. The twins had wanted to decorate the Christmas tree on their own -Skids had accused him of hovering. He'd trusted that they could handle that without supervision and therefore retreated to the kitchen, eager to relax with a cup of tea and enjoy the soothing sound of Christmas carols drifting in from the other room.

So much for that plan.

Instead, he found himself face to face with the twins, who were jostling each other through the door. Mudflap's face and hands were smeared with something brightly red -blood!- and he was cupping a hand under his nose and sniffling. He was also smacking his brother with his other hand, leaving bloody handprints on his face and shirt, and Skids was squawking and slapping him back.

"Mudflap!" Hoist was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing a towel from the oven door handle and running it under the tap. "What happened?" Always the medic, he started wiping the youngster's face, pushing the towel up under his nose in an effort to staunch the flow of blood.

"It wad hid fawt!" Mudflap screeched, struggling and trying to push Hoist away so he could tackle his brother, "He starded id! He thaid I pud id in da wrong plade!" In the process of his flailing, he wound up whacking Hoist, who stumbled back in surprise, dropping the towel. Mudflap immediately started towards his brother, snuffling and wiping his nose on his arm, leaving a smear of blood on his sleeve.

Skids backed away, a shocked look on his face, though it was due more to the fact that his twin had _hit_ Hoist, no matter how accidental it had been. Especially considering it was _Mudflap_ who'd done it; Skids had always subconsciously believed that if either of them were ever to harm their caregiver -even if it were unintentional- it would be him. Mudflap acted like a sap when Hoist was around; he loved that mech more than almost anything. Skids wasn't jealous; he knew Mudflap loved him more, but…His brother didn't always act like his brother when the medic was present.

"That is _enough!_"

Both of them froze at the tone of Hoist's voice. He sounded calm, but his arms were folded, mouth drawn into a thin line…And that was usually a sign that he was _very_ angry.

"What. Happened?"

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Skids shuffled a little, squeaking when he backed himself into the wall that he seemed to have forgotten was there. Mudflap wiped at his nose again and -realizing the bleeding had stopped- glanced at his brother. "We god inna fight." He finally explained, still sounding somewhat stuffy, "Doopid ovah dere daid I wadn't hangin' duff up right. I told 'im I could do id howevah I wanna add we fighted."

Hoist glanced at the other twin, brow arched, looking for confirmation of this. Skids folded his arms, looking sullen. "I didn't mean at hurt 'im." He muttered, defensive and frowning, "Fergot that we mo' breakable now." Honestly, no one would have cared if they were still robots! It only mattered because they were fragile and easily damaged in their human bodies. They got in fights like that _all the time_ and Hoist had never gotten mad about it before.

Hoist returned the frown, running a hand through his hair and sighing. "You are confined to your quarters, the both of you. After you clean yourselves up, you may sit in your room and think about why we're often telling you to stop hitting each other. It is _not_ acceptable, especially now that it's easier for you to damage each other." The medic wasn't really angry, but he didn't know how else to get through to them. They were used to their shenanigans causing others to get mad. In all actuality, he was a bit scared. With the way they were always roughhousing, he was terrified that one of them would really hurt the other.

The mumbled a 'sorry' in unison, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. They didn't usually _mean_ to be bad; they were just impulsive and energetic. And it was incredibly rare that Hoist lost patience with them. Usually, he was their biggest supporter when they were in hot water with any one else.

As the pair retreated from the kitchen, Hoist slumped back down at the table, head in his hands. What in the universe had possessed him to allow them alone in that room with that Christmas tree? Why had he even agreed to celebrate this holiday, when it made little sense and only seemed to invoke a sense of greed in the humans? He had heard it was supposed to be a holiday of good will and love and giving and hoped it would be a good lesson for the twins, but it was already looking to be a catastrophe.

Now he could only hope that they'd survive the season without any further disasters.

But at the rate things were going, that would require a Christmas miracle.

**Peace**

When they were asleep, the twins were utterly adorable.

They slept in one bed, every night, curled in a tangle of gangly limbs, bodies twined together, fingers twisted in each other's shirts. Sometimes, they got lost in a mess of pillows and blankets --They had way more of them than they needed, but they were thin and spindly and Hoist worried about them getting cold. Other times, the bedding wound up in a heap on the floor and the two youngsters would curl around one another, seeking warmth and comfort.

Mudflap was usually curled up -he was the more vulnerable of the two- his brother wrapped protectively around him. He was always clutching at some part of Skids' person: hair, shirt, arm, something. It was as if he was afraid he'd wake up one morning to find his twin gone…

Skids was restless in his sleep, always rolling around, sprawled and twitchy. And any time he moved, he took his brother with him, keeping him close. Neither of them got particularly _good_ sleep because of this, but…

It didn't matter how they slept…They were always incredibly endearing in repose.

Hoist had gotten into the habit of looking in on them, ever since the change. He worried more about them now that they were all in fragile organic bodies, and found himself checking up on them quite often -especially since the incident at the school- even after they were asleep. It wasn't that they couldn't fend for themselves, it was just…He'd been looking after them for so long, it felt like they really were his.

Technically, they weren't children, not by any one's standards. Though young by Cybertronian standards, they had lived thousands of years already. But now, in these human bodies, they _looked_ like children, and they certainly acted like them as well, which left Hoist feeling as if he needed to keep a closer eye on them.

Nothing had ever been amiss during the nightly checks. Nothing that couldn't be solved by turning off a forgotten light or covering them with an extra blanket or more pillows, that is. But it didn't stop Hoist from looking in on them, every night.

It was, after all, the only time they were ever still and peaceful and he loved seeing them like that.

After tucking them in for the millionth time -Mudflap was shivering, the poor thing- Hoist wandered toward the common area, intent on relaxing for a while. He'd been meaning to browse through a human anatomy book for some time, but had never had a spare moment to do so and this seemed to be the perfect time.

This _was_ an opportune time; he had no pressing paperwork, no squeezed in appointments and nothing to do.

The common area was abuzz with its usual light chatter, coupled with the occasional loud outburst and spattering of laughter. It was a warm, comforting place, safe in its familiarity, and Hoist glanced around, smiling to himself. Even though their little family had its own space, he preferred to be around every one else.

The medic made his way through the room, returning greetings and exchanging pleasantries. His final destination was the big old easy chair they had salvaged from Sam's creators' basement. It had been headed for the garbage, but had been donated to the Autobots when they found themselves in their current predicament and it was Hoist's favorite spot to relax.

Legs crossed, he leaned back in the chair, the book propped up in his lap. This particular volume looked to be incredibly promising; it was full of interesting tidbits about the inner workings of the human body.

It only took a minute or two before the words started swimming before his eyes and he slumped over the book, asleep. Hoist had a habit of underestimating the signs his human body gave about how tired he was -or sometimes simply ignoring them- and often fell asleep right when he set about to do something relaxing.

Every one knew better than to disturb him; they all knew how hard he worked and how little recharge he got. And every one liked and respected Hoist too much to wake him, even if it was to move him to a more comfortable place for sleeping. So he had become a familiar sight there, most nights, dozing in the armchair with a book or file or something slipping from his grasp.

Most nights, Hoist woke to find himself alone, the rest of his comrades gone off to bed. Sometimes, some thoughtful individual covered him in a blanket; usually he was left exactly as he had been, and rose in the darkness, stretching and gathering his things before heading off to his quarters for some proper sleep.

This night, however, the first thing he saw when he blinked -muzzy- was Grapple sitting on the footrest near him, looking through a sheaf of papers in the dim light. He was leaned forwards, concentrating on whatever it was he was reading, and didn't even notice when his partner woke.

Hoist smiled to himself, just watching Grapple for a minute. Though he was distinctly different in appearance, he still displayed little mannerisms that were unique to him. The way he tilted his head, brow furrowed…the way he squared his shoulders while he was thinking; those things were distinctly Grapple.

He was a bulky man, with a build better suited for a football field than a drawing board. Everything about him was always slightly unkempt; Grapple had his head in the clouds and his mind on his work ninety-five percent of the time and was constantly running a hand through his hair. Hoist had to remind him often to do those odd little human things, like brushing his teeth and changing his socks, but the medic wouldn't change him for anything.

"Oh." Grapple glanced up suddenly, folding the papers and fiddling with them almost nervously, "You're online. Good." The smile that crossed his face at that wasn't one of his biggest, but it was one of the ones that made Hoist glad to know him.

Hoist bent to retrieve his book from the floor; it had fallen off his lap when he'd slumped down in the chair. "What are you doing still up? It's late and you're usually well into your recharge cycle by now…" Not that he was displeased by Grapple's presence or anything; it was just a change from routine. Truth be told, he was immensely happy to see his partner waiting for him; it was a _good_ change.

"I was waiting for you." Grapple put his papers back in their folder and rose, setting the file down on the footrest he'd recently vacated.

"…" The other man gave him a quizzical look, head cocked to the side in confusion. His partner never waited up for him; just went to bed and was already dead to the world by the time Hoist dragged himself off to recharge. It crossed his mind, for a second, that maybe he wasn't even really awake; maybe he was just dreaming all of this. It certainly _seemed_ like a situation out of a dream. "…Why?"

This time, Grapple's smile was a wide one. "Look out the window."

Curious, Hoist padded over to the aforementioned pane of glass, peering out into the night. "Oh my!" The world was powdered; white flecks swirling through the darkness and shimmering in the dim glow of the perimeter lights. Hoist watched, transfixed, as the wintry mix settled, still and sparkling, across the land. "It's beautiful…"

He was so intent on watching the snow flurry that Grapple's arm around his shoulders came as a complete surprise and he jumped at the touch, then glanced up at the other man, a sheepish look crossing his face. Grapple smiled back, understanding. It was another unusual gesture; they were both fairly reserved individuals.

"I thought you'd want to see it," The architect said quietly as Hoist nestled into the embrace, snuggling at his side, "But didn't think you'd happen to look out the window on your own, so I waited for you."

Hoist was silent for a long time, just thinking about that. The snow _was_ beautiful; simple, peaceful and so unfamiliar a sight that the novelty would last for quite some time. Nature on this planet worked in mysterious and fascinating ways, and Hoist liked that. But even more…It was the gesture itself that made it perfect. He had heard that, sometimes, no matter how compatible you are, people start to drift apart after a millennia or two. Or they become so comfortable in their routine that nothing is ever new or surprising.

But Grapple had changed his whole evening routine, just to show Hoist something he would have otherwise missed: One brief moment of peace, something that would be trampled and ruined forever with the first light of dawn. Then young 'bots would be out, screaming and laughing and destroying the pristine tranquility of the winter world and it would be gone, lost to them forever. Sure, other similar moments would come -and go- but none of them would be _this_ moment.

There had been a lot of words tossed in their direction: Old-Fashioned. Unromantic. Boring. The list could go on. And all of this from the younger generation, especially the soldiers who had never known a life without war; who found themselves constantly living in the moment. They didn't understand what it was like to be part of something bigger than themselves; to be part of some one else and have them be a part of you in return. They only _thought_ they understood, and that was why they failed to see Hoist and Grapple's partnership as anything special.

Moments like this were what made it so.

"Thank you." Hoist said, breaking the silence with his calm, even voice. The thanks wasn't for the snowfall, but rather the companionship. They didn't often spend time together like this, just in one another's presence.

Grapple's arm tightened around his shoulders and Hoist smiled, knowing he understood.

**Love**

"…You two want me to take you where?"

"The mall!"

"…Isn't that something you should ask Hoist about?" Grapple blinked at the twins, frowning a little. They had never asked him to take them anywhere; it was usually Hoist that they pestered, driving him insane until he either complied and chaperoned their excursions or politely told them to knock it off and get lost.

"We _can't_ ask him!"

"Yeah!"

"We wanna get somethin' fo' him. He can't be the one ta take us."

"Yeah, he might thee it!"

"And that'd ruin the surprise-"

"-Totally!-"

"-so you gotta do it!"

Another blink and Grapple scratched his head, glancing between the two of them again, slightly confused. He'd been so busy designing and building modular wall dividers for their now-too-large quarters that he'd completely missed the main point of Christmas: Presents. "Ah, _why_ are you buying something for Hoist?" A pause, "And what kind of 'something' are you talking about?"

"Fo' Cwithmath!" Mudflap grinned, flailing his arms a little, "Annabelle thay you th'pothed to give yo' Mom an' Dad thomethin' ta thow you care 'bout 'em."

"And Hoist's kinda like a mom for us." Skids clarified, his thoughtful expression crossing his face and making it look as if he was trying too hard to be serious, "He does mom-stuff, like makin' sure our clothes are clean and feedin' us and slag."

Clearly, neither of the twins understood the concept of human gender and gender labels. The corners of Grapple's mouth twitched upwards at the description of his partner as a mother. He could, actually, imagine Hoist as the stereotypical human mother, dressed in an apron and baking cookies for the twins; he was that kind of caring, nurturing individual.

"An' we dunno what we gonna give 'im yet…That'th why we gotta go to th'mall." A look that Ironhide jokingly referred to as "the cute face" -because there was very little cute about the twins- crossed Mudflap's face and he clasped his hands together, trying his best to look innocent and adorable. "Pweeeeathe?"

"I suppose we can make a day of it…" Against his better judgment, Grapple found himself agreeing, though he suspected he would live to regret it. Doing _anything_ with the twins often proved to be trying; they just couldn't control themselves. But Hoist loved them and he knew it would make the medic happy to receive a gift from them. "But you two have to promise you'll be on your best behavior."

"We do!" They chorused, matched grins lighting their faces. That, of course, lead to a fist bump and a few moments of horsing around, the two of them tussling playfully while Grapple folded his arms and frowned.

"Are you already trying to convince me this is a bad idea?" Threatening to end an activity before it began was usually a good way to get the two of them to fall in line. "Because I _do_ have other things I could be doing, like constructing more barriers and tweaking the-"

"We'll be mo' than good!" Skids interrupted him, quickly trying to reassure the architect that all would be well, "We won't get in no fights or break nothin' or any a that slag that usually gets us in trouble with the boss. And we'll find the best present ever fo' Hoist, somethin' so cool everythin' else'll look like crap. And-"

Grapple resisted the urge to sigh, holding up a hand to stop him before his speech continued instead. "Just get your coat."

-

The mall, Grapple decided, was the most miserable place he'd ever been to. Worse than battlefields and officers' meetings, it was crowded and noisy and dirty and full of loud, whiny, greedy humans. The small humans were crying and leaking and demanding and the big humans were fast losing patience with them.

Of course, the twins had no idea what they wanted to give Hoist. This meant they had to go in every store, starting at one end and working their way to the other. It meant a stop mid-mall for the terrible greasy mess that somehow passed for food. It meant arguments over possible gift ideas, stops for pretzels, ice cream and raspberry lemonades (Grapple realized that he really needed to discuss the twins' allowance with Hoist; it seemed they had an awful lot of unnecessary cash) followed by subsequent trips to the less-than-sanitary restroom.

Grapple was at his wit's end by the time they dragged him into the "sexy underwear store," in which they started giggling immaturely and placing those mysterious undergarments known as brassieres atop one another's heads. A perky saleswoman wandered over just as one of the aforementioned items landed on Grapple's head; she looked as if she were trying to be serious and not laugh.

"Can I help you?" She chirped, a smile that was a bit too wide crossing her face as she glanced between the three of them, finally turning to address the flustered architect, "Are you looking for something for your wife or girlfriend?"

The twins immediately stuffed the items in their hands back where they belonged, shuffling a little and looking uncertainly at Grapple, who sighed and slowly removed the bra from his head and handed it to her. "No; I apologize…They don't mean to touch things."

"Yeah we do!" Mudflap interjected, grinning brightly.

"An' you should git somethin' fo' _Mom_ here!" Skids chimed in, snickering and holding up another lacy undergarment, this one a festive green and trimmed with feathers. "This one is perfect, yo!"

"That's enough!" The glare that Grapple leveled on them could have sheered through solid steel. Both of them jumped a little at his tone and the sales lady wisely took a step back, snatching the item from Skids' hand in the process. "Both of you…Out! Now!"

They scurried out of the store without looking back; they both knew that Grapple's patience with them didn't extend as far as Hoist's did. He didn't even bother to apologize to the puzzled looking sales lady, just marched right out of the store after them, a scowl firmly in place on his face.

"We're leaving."

"Noo!" They both whined, identical stricken looks passing across their funny little faces.

"We didn't get no present yet!"

"We can't go!"

"What about Hoist?!"

They were playing dirty and Grapple knew it, but…There was nothing he wouldn't do for Hoist. And the twins were right; it _would_ make the medic incredible happy to receive a gift from the two of them. Besides, they looked so upset and pathetic that he felt a little bad telling them the trip was over, even though it was _their_ fault he was so agitated to begin with.

"We sorry, man!" Skids apologized for the both of them, as Mudflap stood beside him, nodding eagerly. They really, REALLY wanted to do this; Hoist deserved it. But they had such a problem with keeping themselves under control…It was hard to remember that they had to think about things before they did them; they were just so used to doing whatever in the spur of the moment.

Grapple sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He could feel the beginnings of a headache, a feeling that he knew all too well. "Fine. You have precisely half an hour to find a suitable gift before I drag both of you out of here and you get to explain to Hoist why you failed to purchase a gift for him." This was it; their last chance.

They scurried off, half in a panic and half over-excited. Grapple trailed behind them at a more sedate pace, shaking his head a little. The things he did out of love…

**Joy**

The day wasn't even half over and the twins had already disappeared to try out their favorite of their new 'toys' - a prototype game system that was being developed and still in it's early testing stages that Wheeljack had gotten his hands on Primus-only-knows-how - leaving a pile of crumpled wrapping paper and bows scattered around the room. It had been over in a matter of minutes; a whirlwind of paper and presents and delighted shrieking. The twins were video game and movie junkies; even as robots, they'd been interested in Earth electronics. Their small statures made it easy for them to partake in human video games, and the violence and destruction delighted them.

They had been thrilled with the gift, leaping at Hoist in a flurry of hugs and shoulder punches and excited chatter. They rarely did a thing without enthusiasm and their thanks were rather exuberant.

Then the two of them had raced off, Skids lugging the box along, to set up the gaming system in the common area and brag about it to the other young 'bots, leaving Hoist and Grapple ankle-deep in wrapping paper.

"Well…" Hoist looked a little dazed, blinking blue eyes and glancing around him at the wreckage and refuse, "That was quick. I suspect we would have missed it, had we blinked."

"Are you surprised?" Grapple couldn't help smiling a little, amused. The twins were hardly patient or contained and Hoist knew that better than any one. But he always seemed to forget their imperfections, no matter how obnoxious they were.

"Hardly." The medic smiled in response, stooping to gather the crumpled paper and fold it neatly for the recycling bin. He was a little bit of a neat freak; always tidying up when the twins or his absent-minded partner mussed something. The mess on the floor would bother him if it remained, and it had already been there long enough.

Grapple watched him for a moment, fond. Hoist was predictable and with his predictability came familiarity and comfort. Grapple liked things to be somewhat monotonous; without any sort of major surprises in his life, he was able to spend his days happily designing and building. It was selfish of him and he knew it, but…It was for the good of the Autobot cause that he created his masterpieces.

"It's a shame that it was over so fast…" Hoist was saying as he piled the discarded wrappings in a box, "It was enjoyable." Seeing the twins happy pleased him immensely; their contentment meant he was doing his job.

"It's not over." His partner took a step forward, resting a hand on Hoist's arm to gain his full attention. The medic looked at him in surprise as Grapple removed a stack of wrinkled paper from his hands and replaced it with a tiny, neatly wrapped gift, anticipation lighting his eyes.

Hoist turned the box over in his hands, examining it before gently tugging at the ribbon. Grapple looked awfully pleased with himself; whatever this unexpected gift was, it must have been something good, but for the life of him, Hoist had no idea what it could be. He stuffed the ribbon in his pocket and, suddenly curious to see what was inside the package, tore off the paper.

Nestled in a tissue paper bed within the box was a finely crafted silver ring. It was a curious gift; too big to fit around a finger, too small to slip over a wrist. The metal had been smoothed and polished, the workmanship exquisite -- There was no sign of a seam in the metal, though it undoubtedly had one.

Hoist glanced up at Grapple, an inquisitive look crossing his face.

"I got the idea while the twins were arguing over what they wanted your mug to say." Grapple shrugged a little, "The kiosk was next to a jeweler's and I happened to wander in…" Most of the jewelry had been flashy and garish and totally unappealing and the architect only gave it a cursory glance. But a young couple at the counter, discussing wedding bands, had caught his attention, and their discussion with the jeweler had prompted him to do some research on his own upon returning to the base.

"Humans have a custom of giving their partners rings to symbolize a bond." He went on to explain, "The continuous circle is meant to represent the never ending nature of the relationship, though I think humans are a bit uncertain about what 'never ending' means, given the way their relationships end rather quickly. They are a young race and don't understand the word 'forever'. But you and I…" Here he paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

There were a lot of things they didn't say to one another, mostly because -in their former bodies- they didn't _need_ to say them. They were capable of understanding on a different level; they had mingled their sparks enough that it was sometimes difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. The word "love" was not one they said often; far too much, it was over-said and rendered meaningless.

The medic waited, curious to see what his partner would say next.

Grapple moved to take his hand, clasping it in his own and tugging Hoist closer. "What I've built with you, Hoist…_We_ are my greatest masterpiece and I never want you to think otherwise. I know I get caught up in my work and don't always know what to do with the twins, but…I'd be lost without you. I want you to know that." He smiled faintly, admiring his own handiwork, "So I made this for you. I wanted it big enough to not get lost or broken, should we return to our original forms, and strong enough to endure anything, like us."

"Thank you." Hoist set the box aside, freeing his hands, and curled closer, a content smile blossoming across his face, "It's magnificent, like everything you make. And I hardly need anything to remind me I have you, but I'm glad for it nonetheless. Perhaps I don't say it often enough, but…" There was something about the way his face lit up, eyes sparkling, that left no doubt in Grapple's mind as to what he would say next, "I do love you."

And with that, he suddenly found himself swept up into Grapple's arms, and being kissed, a completely unexpected -but again- welcome turn of events. "I know…" The architect murmured as Hoist wrapped his arms around his neck, grinning, "I love you too." And he kissed him again, this time softer and slower and full of promise.

"Woo hoo…Wouldja lookit that?"

"And there ain't even no mistletoe in here!"

"Mebbe he did get one thothe frilly thingth fo' Hoitht aftah all."

"Go Grapple!"

…So of course the moment was utterly and completely ruined.

The twins had materialized in the doorway, interrupting the kiss with their catcalls and hooting; it never ceased to amuse them when their caregivers acted like that. It was an uncommon sight and, for whatever reason, they found it hilarious. It always lead to much good-natured teasing and Grapple sometimes found himself wondering if perhaps this was _why_ they didn't often display affection for one another openly.

He blushed, always awkward when they were caught in an intimate moment, but Hoist simply laughed, the sound cheery and joyful, and hugged him again. Mudflap shot a thumbs up in their direction, happy that Hoist was happy, and high-fived his twin, and then they were gone once more, having completely forgotten why they returned in the first place.

Grapple gently placed his partner back on his feet, a little flustered by the entire situation. Hoist gave his arm an affectionate pat, completely understanding of the architect's discomfort with the situation, and nestled into his side, making a soothing sound. "…Grapple?"

"Yes, Hoist?"

"I don't have anything particularly special to give you. I'm sorry…"

"I don't need anything besides you." Their eyes met, and for a moment, Grapple didn't care if they ever reverted to their original forms, because he loved being able to see Hoist smile whenever the mood struck him; there was nothing to obscure the view of his mouth like this.

And there was that smile, content and bright and one of the most beautiful things Grapple had ever seen, and Hoist was hugging him again; it was as if they were millennia younger and still foolish and love struck.

"Happy Christmas, Grapple."

Grapple smiled in return. Happy Christmas indeed.


	16. Part 13

**Notes: **Haha; I started writing the newest part, forgetting I mostly had this part written. Well, good thing I found this part in my folder, because it's way better than the other thing I started writing!

**Cliffjumpersfangirl:** All of your input is love. My experiences observing speech therapy sessions have all revolved around preschoolers, so I don't know all of the things older students would be doing.

**Second daughter of Eve:** Mudflap says thanks for the treats.

**Era Yachi:** I like to give side characters personality. It's fun :3

Please enjoy and don't be shy about asking questions, leaving concrit, etc.

-

"I want to postpone the twins' combat training for an indefinite period of time."

Perceptor looked up from his work, irritation flickering across his faceplates. Really, was it necessary for every one to keep interrupting his experiments? He purposely made it clear that he was in his lab so he _wouldn't_ be disturbed, but it seemed that common courtesy eluded most of the other mechs aboard the _Epsilon_.

Oddly enough, it was _Hoist_ who was currently interfering with his work. The scientist could only recall one other time that Hoist had ever barged in on him and that had been when the twins were very young and a door had malfunctioned and closed on Skids, crushing his leg. The medic had required his assistance with repairs and rushed in without bothering to comm first. Other than that, he had always politely requested a meeting when he needed to discuss things with Perceptor.

"But they have been making excellent progress. Their attention spans are growing and they are capable of focusing on a goal now. Why would you want to put a stop to that? It would be likely that they would revert to their previous negative behaviors if their routine was altered in such a way." Perceptor cocked his head, rising to be optic level with the medic, trying to come up with a possible explanation for Hoist's sudden change of spark.

Hoist rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to come up with the best response. "It is putting too much stress on Mudflap and, to put it simply, it is overwhelming and frightening him and _that_ is why he cannot speak properly. It is no secret that he's shaping up to be a better fighter than his brother, and more is expected of him. He also fully understands that, should they engage in battle, if one of them is incapacitated or offlined, the other will suffer as well. It is a lot of responsibility for one so young."

Perceptor frowned at him, folding his arms. "What an idealistic world you live in, Hoist. We're in the middle of a _war_ and you wish to stop their training. What happens if the ship is attacked? If we meet up with Prime's crew? They need to be prepared to handle whatever may come and sheltering them is not the way to prepare them. You have become too emotionally attached to them and that is clouding your judgment."

The medic took a step back, surprised. No one had ever accused him of such a thing; most of the mechs onboard the ship were just happy to have him keeping the twins occupied. Sure, he had invested a lot of his time and attention in the twins and their upbringing, but was that really such a bad thing?

Hoist was not a soldier. He had never served in the direct line of combat and he had never worked in the field. All of his experiences with soldiers were those of some one detached from war, when they came to him for repairs after training or with minor problems not related to the military. He had _seen_ the effects of the war, but never experienced them for himself. Because of this, he could not bring himself to believe -though it was a logical conclusion- that emotional attachments were a dangerous thing during times of conflict.

"I don't want them at a disadvantage." He finally offered, looking up to meet the researcher's expectant gaze, "But I do not want their mental health to suffer either. They are already both fragile enough under their tough exteriors and constantly pushing them to do more will only exacerbate the situation."

Perceptor hitched his chin up, jaw tightening. This was the difference between himself and Hoist; the medic was too soft, too sensitive. There was no room in science for emotional attachments to your subjects. "This is _the_ worst possible time for you to consider such a thing and you are aware of this. If they are to be effective soldiers, they need as much training as possible. Not to mention the fact that we are supposed to be considering installing combiner programming in them. Are we just going to forget about that so their feelings can be spared?"

"This isn't their war!" Hoist burst out, fighting the urge to stomp is foot childishly out of frustration, "They have nothing to do with it, yet we're expecting them to sacrifice their youth for it! They aren't meant to be soldiers." It was terrifying, thinking that perhaps someday that would be sent off to battle, never to return. Hoist _had_ grown attached to them; he worked with them for so long, how could he not? He loved them as if they were his own creations.

"How can you say it isn't their war?" Perceptor snapped, "They're Autobots, aren't they? They lost their creators because of this war and, like it or not, they are now involved. And we have a duty to Prime to provide him with the most effective soldiers we can. It is our _job_; this is in part a military vessel. It is our duty to upload the combiner software and instruct them in how to use it prior to the _Epsilon's _inevitable contact with Prime and his crew. They _must_ know how to use it properly before they engage in battle or the results will be disastrous."

The scientist paused for a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts before he continued, "It is your choice whether you help them or hinder them in this, since I am certain the others will vote in favor of reformatting them. A combiner team is invaluable in and off itself and we will have the only one comprised of twins. It is inevitable that it happens and the sooner the better." Perceptor sat back at his work table, certain he had won. How could Hoist argue with him, when all of his points were valid and logical?

Hoist simply stared at him, speechless and certain he was losing control of his life as he knew it.


	17. Part 14

**Notes:** I don't have anything to say about this chapter, but here are some plugs for other things: Eva Fay is writing a sort-of sequel to this story, so be sure to give "Parental Notice" a looky-loo if you haven't already. Also, I'm continuing the human!AU as its own separate story, "Humans Doing." Right now, it's only got the one chapter and it's one I posted here, but I'm working on a new one as you're reading this, so check that out as well.

**OrianPrime92:** Basically, "exacerbate" means "to make worse."

**Cliffjumpersfangirl:** I think of the twins mentally being about thirteen or fourteen, even though they're physically old enough to be adults. They certainly ACT like teenage boys, after all...

...I don't know what's wrong with the website, but I just had a harder time posting this than writing it DX

Please enjoy the fic~ As always comments, questions and concrit are strongly encouraged. I love people asking questions or telling me what they like!

-

"Come on…"

"I don't wanna."

"You _need_ to talk about this."

"But…"

"No 'buts,' Mudflap. You need to talk about the things you're afraid of. No one can help make it better if we don't know everything that's bothering you."

Some time had passed. Hoist was trying his best to get the youngster to open up about his worries, but it was proving to be most difficult. After that day in the common area, Mudflap had been vehemently denying that anything was bothering him at all. He'd needed recharge that day, he claimed, and had been annoyed by the things Knockout had said. Nothing to worry about!

It was _a lot _to worry about, Hoist knew.

He just had no clue how to get Mudflap to talk about it.

"They wanna know if you guyth talked 'bout it yet." Mudflap deftly changed the subject, peering curiously up at the medic, doorwings twitching a little, fingers twiddling in his lap. He hoped this would work; Hoist had been hounding him about his fears and he just didn't want to talk about it!

Hoist glanced down at him, brows drawing together. "Who wishes to know if we've talked about what?" He asked, perplexed. Mudflap had this way of being incredibly vague, but still making others feel as if they should know what he was talking about.

The smaller bot looked down at his feet, picking aimlessly at a scratch in his paintjob and causing flakes of color to shower down on the floor. "'Bout the combinah thing." He said quietly, gaze flickering back up to look at Hoist's face. "Wath athkin' bout it 'gain today durin' drillth. You thaid you'd talk to Pertheptor about it…"

"Oh."

It was all Hoist said, but that one word said it all. Mudflap knew that flat tone meant Hoist was displeased and didn't wish to speak about it, but he also knew the medic wouldn't ignore his question. The older mech was indulgent, especially where he was concerned, and he knew that asking a question was the best way to change the subject.

"Didjoo talk 'bout it?" The youngster pressed, not quite sure he wanted to hear the answer. He had mixed feelings about the programming; he liked the idea of being closer with his brother, but…It just seemed like there would be more problems than benefits. What if one of them was damaged? Or worse, offlined? What new things would they have to learn? Perceptor had said they would need intensive training to help them adapt to the programming and learn how to properly use it. Their training was already incredibly tough; how could it possibly get worse?

If there was one thing Mudflap was afraid of more than anything else, it was the uncertainty of war.

Hoist was silent a moment, contemplating what to say. "We did discuss it," He finally informed the younger mech, "at great length." He didn't mention how he had argued heatedly with the scientist, insisting they put off the reformatting and focus more on the issues the twins already had. Mudflap didn't need to know that part. Perceptor was right; the twins would need all his support to make it through this next stage of their life in one piece. He had to make it sound as if he was one hundred percent positive this was a good idea.

"Well?" Mudflap cocked his head, optics flickering in a curious blink. Whatever the medic said next…It would change his life forever, one way or the other.

"We're going to proceed with the reprogramming." Hoist informed him, meeting and holding the other mech's gaze. He didn't think he needed to tell Mudflap how serious this was; he had the idea that the youngster understood. "We've come to the conclusion that the benefits outweigh the risks. You are both young and already deeply linked, which makes you the perfect candidates for the procedure. We're confident you'll do well."

He didn't feel very confident, but he said it anyway.

"Pertheptor thaid it'd be loth mo' trainin'…" Mudflap frowned thoughtfully, doorwings drooping a little, "If we perfect fo' it, why we need to do tho much mo' work?" That was the part he didn't understand. Every one said they were the natural choice for this experiment and that they should accept the programming easily.

Hoist smiled behind his mask; of course the youngster didn't think about the infinite number of small details particular to this programming. "You'll have to learn how to keep yourselves together and that will likely require a lot of practice. I know you and Skids are close, but I also know that you are prone to arguing and disagreeing and that may make it difficult for you to remain combined. Besides, any new programming takes time to get used to; you may need more maintenance checks than usual to make sure you're acclimating properly."

"…Oh." Mudflap frowned, shoulders falling in a gesture of weary acceptance. There was a long silence, and then, "…Do we _hafta_ do it?"

He was scared. Again. It didn't take a genius to figure it out and it certainly didn't take more than a nanosec for Hoist to come to that conclusion. "I'm sorry, Mudflap." And he was, genuinely. This was not the way the medic had envisioned the twins' life would go. He wanted something different for them; a life unaffected by war. Far too often he saw what happened to the young soldiers who had no idea what they were getting into and it made his spark ache. "But the decision is out of my hands. All I can hope to do now is make it as easy as possible for you and Skids."

The smaller mech looked up at him, expression uncharacteristically serious, and Hoist had to look away. He couldn't help the feeling that Mudflap was looking through him into his very spark and that he wouldn't like what he might see.

"Okay." The youngster finally said, voice unusually soft, "Gueth we gotta do what we gotta do. Thkidth already exthited 'bout it an' mebbe I'll finally get to meet Prime thomeday if we the only combinah team th' Autoboth got." It seemed as if he was talking himself through the reasons why this was a good idea. He looked down at his hands for a moment, silent, watching his fingers curl into fists, then jerked his head back up to meet Hoist's gaze once again. "And I ain't gonna let mythelf be 'fraid no more."

Hoist wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything.

Mudflap's smile when the medic rested a supportive hand on his shoulder was enough to make Hoist believe that maybe this would all work out okay in the end.


	18. Bonus Drabble: Expendable

**Notes: **This is not part of my original plotline of "Speech Therapy," but rather a little plot bunny that jumped into my head, said "use me!" and wouldn't go away until I did. I'm not sure where exactly it would fit into the story line, but it goes in there somewhere before the most recent part.

The idea behind this was based on the Hasbro bio on the twins' ice cream truck toy package, where it states they are "equipped with experimental combination technology" and my own realization that my set of the Aerialbots is from the RotF toyline and they are also a combiner unit, so the experiment must have wound up working in the end.

**-**

**expendable  
**_-adjective  
_1. considered to be not worth keeping or maintaining.  
2. not worth salvaging or reusing.  
3. open to sacrifice in the interests of gaining an objective, especially a military one.

-

"You know why they wanna do this to us, right?"

"…Huh?" Even if he hadn't been exhausted after a grueling training session and preoccupied with the promise of immanent recharge, Mudflap wouldn't have been quite certain what his brother was talking about. The question had come out of nowhere as the two dragged themselves back to their quarters for some much needed rest and relaxation. Skids had been running his mouth about something Mudflap had only been half paying attention to when he'd abruptly blurted out the question.

"The combinah stuff, stupid! You know why they wanna do it to us?"

"'Courthe…It'th cauthe we twinth an' we got a natural bond."

Skids paused mid-stride to give his twin an incredulous, I-can't-believe-you're-that-gullible look. Of course innocent, clueless Mudflap would buy that load of slag! But Skids…He had it all figured out.

"That's just what they sayin', 'Flap." He informed his brother, voice hushed. Well, as much as 'hushed' could apply to a loudmouth like him, anyway; it was really more of a loud whisper.

Mudflap cocked his head, punching in the key code to unlock their door and allow them access to their room. He hoped whatever idea it was that Skids had gotten into his head, it would have a short explanation. He really didn't have the energy to listen to another of his brother's ridiculous theories.

"Look, you heard them all talkin' 'bout it, right?" Skids didn't wait for Mudflap to answer, just plowed right on ahead, pacing around the small room as Mudflap stretched out on his berth, "It's 'sperimental. They nevah tried this on no one before. They dunno what'll happen, but they gotta try it on _some one._" His arms were flailing as he clomped back and forth, getting himself more and more worked up.

"And?" Mudflap had, of course, heard all of that. He still had no idea what Skids was talking about, though.

"And? And?! You only got half a processor or somet'in'?" The other twin stomped over, giving his brother a shove and flopping beside him, "They need test subjects, bro! And they want us 'cause who's gonna care if it messes us up? We ain't nobody and no one ain't gonna miss us if it all goes horribly wrong! All that stuff 'bout us bein' perfect 'cause we already got a spark-deep bond is a whole lotta slag and you stupid fo' b'lievin' it."

Mudflap frowned, shoving him back roughly. "Hoitht wouldn't let no one do that to uth! He'd care if we got methed up!" Hoist wouldn't allow it! Never! He looked out for them…Wouldn't let any one hurt them.

…Would he?

"It ain't his decision!" Skids crawled over him, turning on his side to face the wall, arms folding over his chest, "If it were up ta him, he'd keep us here an' we'd never do nothin'. But it ain't." This time, his voice did drop to an unnatural quiet tone, though his frame still radiated tension, "It _ain't_. So they gonna do it to us and he gonna hate them fo' it an' it might mess us up or even offline us and they gonna do it just 'cause we no one and _no one gonna care_. It's all fo' science, so they can see if it gonna work an' then they can use the programmin' on better, stronger soldiers than us." He paused, "We ain't important. We ex…expenable. Tha's all."

Silence fell between the two of them as Mudflap let his brother's dissertation sink in. Skids was angry; he hated feeling used and Mudflap knew it. He could feel his brother's irritation over the situation through their bond, but even without that it wouldn't take a genius to figure it out -- Skids was practically vibrating from trying to control his emotions.

Mudflap wriggled closer, seeking his brother's hand. If one or both of them was upset, physical contact helped as much as a close proximity, and Skids allowed his other half to play absently with his fingers; patiently putting up with his flexing and bending them in a way reminiscent to Hoist's recalibrations of his joints.

"Well," Mudflap finally said, decisively and not allowing any room for argument, "then we jutht gonna hafta prove 'em all wrong."


	19. Part 15

**Notes:** It's been a while, hasn't it? I DO plan on finishing this series; hopefully _soon._...If there's anything in here that doesn't make sense, please tell me. It has been a long time since I worked on this, after all.

**OrianPrime92**: As the "older" brother, Skids has a duty to do torturing Mudflap.

**Artemis1000:** Thank you so much for your glowing review! You had the exact reaction I wanted people to have to this story; it was meant to get people to think differently about feel for the twins.

Anyway, enough of a wait. On to the story! As always, please don't be shy to ask questions and leave concrit.

* * *

There was nothing.

It was like floating through a void.

There was nothing to hear, nothing to see, nothing to feel. A quick check showed that all his systems were functional and in full working order; sensory input was at one hundred percent.

And yet, Mudflap was floating in…nothing. Had he offlined? Was this the end?

And then…

"Mudflap?"

The voice was far away; muffled. Or maybe somewhere inside him. It seemed to resonate in his very core; echoing from somewhere in the back of his processor. Or from outside. It came from inside outside all around. Maybe. He wasn't sure.

He turned - How does one turn in nothing? - seeking the source of the voice so like his own. His other half. Skids; where was he? Somewhere inside him. Nearby; far away. The voice…In his mind. In his _spark_.

Had they been put back together, as nature intended?

The void gave way to white brightness and there! Skids! He was upside down, suspended in midair, nothing around him to hold him up, hands outstretched in the direction of his twin. Mudflap struggled through the nothingness towards him; fighting, swimming, stretching his fingers…

_Cold steel_.

Their upgrade had, so far, gone off without a hitch. They both readily accepted the programming; it integrated neatly into both of their processors as if it was designed for them.

Of course, reprogramming them was only the beginning of the process; they would also have to try actually combining as well. This was one of the more worrisome aspects of this endeavor; they already had a hard enough time getting along as it was. They were always bickering, always pounding on one another, always giving each other the silent treatment. How in the name of Primus would they manage to keep it together long enough to stay combined?

Their fighting ability was not on par, either. Would that affect the combination process? Though he could hold his own, Skids was no match for his brother. Mudflap had always tested higher in any given battle simulation, simply due to the fact that he didn't think about it too much; just plowed ahead. Skids was always tripping himself up over-analyzing a situation and his combat skills suffered because of it. If they were combined as one, would Mudflap's superior fighting abilities win out or would they fail to work harmoniously?

And then there were the so far unanswered questions about how much more of a connection they would have; the twins were already bound together at a spark-deep level, but…

No one had ever been one hundred percent positive, but they'd long since suspected that the twins had a near-psychic link. They could almost always tell what the other was thinking or feeling, and they sometimes finished each other's sentences. What would it be like now, given that they already _were_ one another?

Perceptor had been keeping a silent vigil, thinking on all these things, as he waited for them to wake up.

Watching the twins online after the procedure was fascinating.

They jolted back to consciousness at exactly the same nanosecond, hands already reaching, finding, clutching. They were groping blindly for one another, seemingly desperate to touch.

There was no seeing; the sensory input was already completely too much as emotions flooded and looped back, shared and intermingling, through their now-strengthened bond.

What no one else was aware of was the fact that they had never truly known the full potential of their bond. Though they were born with it, had always had it, they didn't really know what to do with it. Theirs was a rare bond; little was known about split-spark twin bonds. No one knew how to explain it to them for the simple reason that no one who hadn't experienced it for themselves knew how it worked.

It was as if they had suddenly awoken from a lifetime of slumber, eyes newly opened. As close as they were, there had always been hidden things between them; things they just didn't or couldn't talk about. But now, it was there, flowing freely between them, a jumbled mess of…everything.

Mudflap wasn't sure where his own self ended and his brother began. So many feelings…There was fear - Was it his? He _had_ been scared and Skids never seemed to worry about anything. But…it didn't seem like his own fear; it had a different feel to it. It felt…more uncertain, almost as if it was a fear hidden and deep. As if its owner wasn't even aware of it.

Worry. Doubt. And…

Relief.

The relief was practically tangible, it was so intense. And Mudflap _knew_ that wasn't his. But…He also never knew his brother had been so worried over all of this. Skids had always been accepting; always said it was what they were meant to do. The science team expected it of them, after all, Skids said, often and loudly, and they had to do what they had to do. So consumed by his own worries, Mudflap had been oblivious and never suspected that Skids didn't actually believe this. But Skids had been scared just the same; not just for himself, but for both of them.

The love that rolled between them at that, it was his. Skids'. _Theirs._ It didn't matter how much they hurt each other, or fought, or any of those things. They had onlined loving one another, meant to complete each other. And now, it was free-flowing between them, unencumbered by any of the complexities of their lives. Free. Secret.

Powerful.

It was a lot to experience all at once, but it gave them better understanding. They had both always known that they were nothing without each other, but for the first time…

Mudflap realized, here, while clutching his brother like he would vanish should he let go, that together, they were _something_.

Unaware of all this, Perceptor wanted nothing more than to interrupt; to inquire after how they felt, run scans, test their functionality now that they were once more online. There was so much to learn from this; so many readings to take, variables and limits to measure. Nothing like it had ever been attempted before and there was still much more to be done.

Hoist's hand on his arm, however, was preventing him from making a move towards the two and bombarding them with an onslaught of scans and questions.

The medic watched silently as they held one another close, foreheads resting together. It looked as if they were having a conversation, silent, no words spoken. Or perhaps they were too overcome to speak; they looked overwhelmed, frames tense, shoulders hunched.

It had been a long, long time since he'd seen them like that.

Perceptor didn't know it, of course, but the real reason Hoist was grabbing his arm wasn't to keep him away from them. It was to keep Hoist himself from running over and fussing over them; the image they presented was a shadow of what it had been that first day, when they had been scared and huddled together. But they were grown now, not scared children any more, and Hoist…

Well, he was still the same and old habits died hard.

"What now?" Suddenly, simultaneously, they both turned, bright gaze fixed on him. It was Skids who spoke, naturally, the question sounding a little thick and garbled, as if his vocal processor hadn't quite caught up with the rest of him since he'd onlined.

Hoist glanced at Perceptor, uncertain. What now indeed?


End file.
